Diamonds Along the Way
by poetzproblem
Summary: Life is what happens while you're making plans. While attending a wedding, a few McKinley alumni reflect on the past while celebrating the future. Third in the Don't Blink series. Post 3x14.
1. Something Of Your Soul

**Author's Note:** I'm adding my meager two cents to the post 3x14: _On My Way_ stories. I'm mostly angsted out, so I'm spinning a happier tale, with maybe a tiny bit of angst peppered. The story moves between a future Faberry, and flashbacks to a possible realistic aftermath of the accident - mixing a present and past tense narrative accordingly. It's set in my _Don't Blink_ verse, and follows _Don't Blink You Might Miss_ and _Steady Your Hand_. Again, you don't absolutely _have_ to have read those, but it wouldn't hurt. Feedback makes my day.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee or the characters, I just like to play with them…strictly non-profit.

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><p><strong>Diamonds Along the Way<strong>

_Don't miss the diamonds along the way  
>Every road had led us here today<br>Life is what happens while you're making plans  
>And all that you need is right here in your hands.<br>__~Diamond Road, Sheryl Crow_

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><p><em><strong>Part One: Something Of Your Soul<strong>_

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><p>Rachel Berry is just as insane at twenty-six as she had been at sixteen.<p>

That's all Kurt Hummel can think as he watches his best friend pace around the room in agitation, stopping every third turn to poke her head out the doorway and crane her lovely neck in a futile effort to see down the hallway and around the corner. He shakes his own head in amusement, and turns back to the full length mirror to check his reflection—it's only the fifth time, and one can never be too meticulous regarding one's appearance, after all. He pats down a piece of hair that has gone slightly askew under the light breeze caused by the air-conditioner, and straightens a tie that is already impeccable. The perfection of the image he sees is marred only by the incessant white blur that keeps moving in and out of the mirror's frame.

"I can smell the soles burning off your shoes," he grumbles. "Jimmy Choo's do not deserve such disrespectful treatment."

Kurt crosses his arms, and turns to face Rachel, who is once again peeking out the door. Anxiety aside, she looks beautiful. The dress is perfect—simple, yet elegant—and it hugs her figure where it should, and caresses her legs in a shimmering fall of silk. Her hair is swept up, and her soft makeup only accents her natural glow. He honestly could never have imagined when he was sixteen that, one day, he'd be acting as man of honor at Rachel Berry's wedding—and never, in a million years, at her big, gay wedding to Quinn Fabray.

Rachel whips away from the door with wild eyes, nervously twisting her engagement ring around her finger. "Kurt, you need to go and make sure that she's here. Right now."

He rolls his eyes, "You're being ridiculous. Quinn has wanted to marry you for years, sweetie." Almost ten, Kurt thinks with a fond smile. "She isn't about to leave you at the altar."

Rachel releases a shuddering breath, "Maybe not intentionally, but…Quinn and I don't have the best history when it comes to weddings," she reminds him with a pained expression, and Kurt's stomach flips as the memory comes rushing back.

It's been so long, and he honestly just doesn't think about it much anymore, but now he feels like a complete ass for not being more sensitive. He's in front of Rachel in two steps, wrapping her up in his arms. "Hey, now...don't think about that, Rachel. Quinn is perfectly fine. She's arriving by limo, and Santana is with her, and you know that she's going to make certain that Quinn is here on time and without a scratch on her."

Rachel chokes back a sob and nods against his shoulder, "I know, I know. I'm completely overreacting. I just wish that I hadn't let her convince me that we should spend the night before the wedding apart. We're hardly a conventional couple, I don't see why she wanted to start adhering to silly traditions now."

Kurt chuckles, "Maybe it has something to do with the June wedding, and the minister and the rabbi waiting outside, and the flower arrangements, and the one hundred and forty-two guests that you invited." He drops his arms to her biceps, squeezes gently, and steps back, grinning down at her. "Face it, Rachel. You wanted to give Quinn Fabray her dream wedding, so you can't fault her for enjoying every last clichéd custom. And, well," he hedges, hesitant to say what he's thinking, "maybe she didn't want to tempt fate by seeing her bride before the wedding."

_Like Finn did_, is left unsaid, but Kurt knows that they're both thinking it when Rachel squeezes her eyes shut and sucks in a harsh breath. Kurt doesn't like to remember that day, but when he lets himself, it's still as vivid as it was nine years ago…

_xox_

"It's now or never."

Kurt bit his tongue to keep from shouting _never_ as he watched his stepbrother desperately try to get Rachel into the judge's office. Truth be told, he didn't understand exactly what was going on, and he didn't even mean the insane, rushed wedding in the middle of their senior year of high school. There was no shotgun at their backs—Kurt had checked with Rachel three times just to be certain.

Of course, he'd tried to talk Rachel out of accepting a proposal at seventeen, but he knew her well enough to know that once she set her mind on something (or someone,) she wouldn't be budged. He knew she loved Finn, probably as much as he loved Blaine, but he just couldn't comprehend the idea of rushing into a huge, life-altering commitment before they'd even gone to college. Finn didn't have a clue about what he wanted to do with the rest of his life, except follow Rachel to New York, and in Kurt's mind, that was just a recipe for disaster. He'd hoped that he could talk some sense into Finn, but he supposed that he'd been giving the big lug too much credit in that department.

No, what Kurt was really having trouble understanding in that moment was why Rachel Berry, who wanted so badly to become Mrs. Finn Hudson that she couldn't even wait until graduation to do it, was now stubbornly delaying the ceremony to wait for _Quinn Fabray_—Quinn, who she'd never been particularly close to, and who, until a few hours ago apparently, had been even more adamantly opposed to this marriage than Kurt.

Yet, there was Rachel, turning her back on Finn to text Quinn again.

Rachel's fathers were eying one another with raised brows, and his own father and Carol were whispering amongst themselves, and Kurt felt fairly certain that any one of them might object at any moment. He certainly hoped they would, at any rate.

"Rachel? What are you doing?" Finn demanded with a confused frown, stepping directly behind Rachel and gazing over her shoulder as she stared down at her silent phone. "We need to go in there right now if we want to get married today," he tried again.

Rachel's hand clenched around her phone, and her frown deepened. Kurt shook his head, thinking that no bride should look that unhappy on her wedding day. He watched Rachel deflate, and shake her head in defeat. "I...I suppose..."

The buzzing of her phone cut her off, and her attention was captured once again. Her lips finally turned up into a smile, and she spun around to Finn. "Quinn's on her way," she crowed, holding up her phone as proof.

Finn smiled too, grabbing at Rachel's free hand, "That's great, Rach. Now let's go do this," he tugged at her hand and turned toward the door. All four of their parents instantly went rigid, and Kurt prayed that one of them would finally object to this insane wedding, but they only threw questioning glances at one another.

Rachel's smile slipped, and she dug her heels in, "N-no, Finn. We have to wait for Quinn."

Finn stared at her incredulously, "Are you kidding? We don't have time, Rachel. Who cares if Quinn is late?"

Rachel jerked her hand away from Finn's grip, and her eyes flashed. "I care," she insisted. Kurt's eyebrows quirked up at the unexpected vehemence in her tone, and he noticed a few of their friends had shaken off their boredom and grown increasingly interested in the happenings. "Quinn is my..._our_ friend. She's part of our family, Finn. If I can't have the wedding that I've always dreamed about, then at the very least, I should be surrounded by the people that I care most about when I say my vows."

"But you're the one that wanted to get married today," Finn whined, eyebrows furrowed. "And you never even cared about any of that dream wedding stuff before today."

"Oh, of course she did," Kurt blurted out, unable to contain himself any longer, and he threw his hands up in frustration. He really could not believe that no one else had put a stop to this ridiculousness. "I've been in the same room with both of you when she's talked about rings, and flower arrangements, and picking a wedding song. And her dream to have Barbra Streisand at her wedding." He turned to Rachel and cupped her shoulders. "Sweetie, you can still have all of those things. You don't need to have some rushed civil ceremony in a dingy courthouse, wearing a bargain rack wedding dress," he grimaced, "however lovely it may be."

Kurt saw hurt and confusion reflected back from Rachel's expressive eyes, but he also saw her innate stubbornness spark back to life. "I…I don't need those things, Kurt."

"Yeah," Finn agreed, slinging an arm around her waist, "we just need each other."

"Of course, of course you do," Hiram chimed in, rushing to Rachel's other side with a fake smile, "but you know, you're not wrong, Rachelah. You should have all of your friends and family here for your big day, and there's no reason we can't wait for…Quinn, is it?" he glanced at Kurt for confirmation. Kurt nodded mutely, wondering why the man couldn't just say _no_ to his daughter and be done with this travesty. "Hmm, that's odd," Hiram murmured as he eyed Finn with a thoughtful frown, "you two with the rhyming names, but no matter. We'll just wait."

"We can't. We'll miss our slot," Finn petulantly repeated.

"Then we'll reschedule for a later date," Leroy calmly reasoned, before specifically addressing Rachel, "when you can have your maid of honor here beside you."

Kurt's eyebrows rose at the arbitrary appointment of Quinn to that position, but he didn't intend to challenge the point if it meant slowing Rachel down. He should have known someone else would.

"Wait," Sugar interjected, placing her hands on her hips, "_I'm_ the maid of honor."

"Oh, hell to the no. If anyone should be, it's me," Mercedes argued from the couch.

"Please," Santana scoffed, "you and the hobbit are only friends when you're not bitching and moaning about who gets more solos."

Mercedes glared at the girl, "I suppose you think you should be maid of honor?"

Santana rolled her eyes, her expression and posture screaming disdain. "Yeah, like I give a crap. I'm just here to gets me some free food after this unnatural, inter-species union is over with."

"Would you all just shut up," Finn yelled. His face had grown red and splotchy, and his grip on Rachel tighter. "We don't have time for this."

"I can't believe this is happening," Rachel whimpered, and Kurt felt his heart break for her. Tears slid over her cheeks, and she looked absolutely gutted. "I just…I just wanted today to be the perfect start to our life together…and it's all wrong," she whispered, shaking her head.

Finn pressed his lips into a tight frown, and he turned Rachel to face him as he leaned down and tried his best to reassure her. "No, Rach…we can still have that. We'll just go in there and get married right now."

Rachel took a deep, trembling breath and looked up at him with wide, wounded eyes. Kurt waited in trepidation, honestly unable to figure out if she'd agree at this point, but he didn't get the chance to find out because his own father had finally reached his limit. "Okay, that's enough," Burt interrupted, "we're done with this farce. There's no way you kids are getting married today."

"Thank God," Kurt murmured, stepping back to let the adults put an end to this madness. Finn had let go of Rachel's shoulders, and his expression moved from confusion to hurt to anger in rapid succession.

"Wait…you said you supported us."

Carol smiled sadly at her son, "Oh, honey, we were hoping you two would come to your senses on your own, and decide to wait. You're just so young."

Finn's hands closed into fists, and his face grew impossibly redder. "So you, like, lied to me? Again?" he shouted. "First about dad and now this."

Rachel attempted to calm his temper with a gentle touch to the back of his hand, and a quietly spoken, "Finn," but he brushed her away.

"I can't believe this. You know what, it doesn't even matter," he told them heatedly, grabbing Rachel's hand and holding it tightly, "because we're getting married anyway. C'mon, Rachel," he took a step toward the door, dragging Rachel behind him, but Burt stepped into his path, placing an open palm to his shoulder to stop him. Kurt had rarely seen his father's face seem so hard and immovable.

"Okay, then. You think you're ready for this...to be a man and support a wife...then you don't need my support."

Finn straightened his shoulders, and stared Burt down. "You're right, we don't."

Burt dropped his hand, but not his gaze, and told him, "You've got until tomorrow morning to pack up and move out."

Every single person in the room gasped. Well, Kurt more or less squeaked, completely flabbergasted that his dad would kick Finn out. Carol started crying and shaking her head, but she didn't say anything to contradict Burt's decision.

"What?" Finn asked stupidly.

"You're in such a hurry to be an adult, and start your life with Rachel. That's fine, but you're not doing it under my roof."

"Burt," Carol whispered with a pained expression.

"I'm sorry, Carol, but if they're grown up enough to go against their parents' wishes by getting married in high school, then they're grown up enough to take care of themselves." He glanced back at Finn, and nodded, "You can keep your job at the garage, though, as long as you show up and do the work I ask you to do."

"You're really gonna let him kick me out?" Finn demanded of his mother.

Carol collapsed into Burt's side, sighing wearily as she wiped away her tears. "I'm so sorry, Finn, but he's my husband," she told him brokenly, "and if you're so determined to become a husband yourself, then you're making a choice to take care of Rachel, and let her take care of you. You can't be dependent on us anymore."

"I can't believe this," Finn growled. "Fine, we'll just live with Rachel's dads."

Santana snorted, "Yeah, he's a real catch, Rachel. Congrats."

"Shut up, Santana," Rachel hissed, but Kurt could hear the exhausted defeat in her tone. She was desperately clutching at Finn's hand with one of hers, and still holding her cell phone in a white-knuckled grip with the other. The room fell silent, except for the distant blare of sirens from somewhere outside their second story window.

Leroy stood behind Rachel, rubbing her shoulder in sympathy, and she glanced back at him with sad eyes. Then her gaze drifted up to Hiram, who pushed up his glasses and shook his head regretfully, "Rachel, honey, you know that dad and I adore you, but..."

"Oh, Hiram, no," Leroy interjected with wide eyes, but Rachel understood perfectly, and her expression screamed of brokenhearted resignation.

"You won't support us either," she whispered.

"We're not saying never get married," Leroy assured her.

"We just don't understand why it has to be right now," Hiram said, throwing his hands out in exasperation. "Why not four years from now? Why not when you're twenty-five and have your first Broadway show under your belt." Rachel winced, and Kurt recalled that, until very recently, that had been part of her life plan.

"Why should we have to wait?" Finn demanded. "We love each other. We want to be together. She can still have all of that other stuff, too."

"Marriage is a huge commitment...emotionally and financially. Have either of you really sat down and talked about what that's going to entail?" Leroy asked them gently. Rachel's eyes immediately fell to the floor, and it was an obvious sign that they hadn't discussed any of those things. Finn didn't seem fazed at all, holding onto Rachel and scowling at her dad. "Rachel, baby girl, you're going to have school to pay for, and classes to attend, and auditions, and that's already going to be stressful, never mind having an apartment to keep tidy, and meals to cook…"

"I can cook," Finn interjected.

"And bills to pay," Leroy continued. "You'll need to get a job, too, because Finn can't be expected to pay for all of that—not to mention your slightly extravagant preferences—without help, and still have time to pursue…"

Leroy trailed off, at a loss, but Hiram jumped right in, "What exactly are your career plans again, Finn?"

Finn dropped Rachel's hand in a fury, and paced away to stand by the door. "Why the hell does everyone keep harping on that?" His slammed the side of his fist into the wall, causing everyone to jump, before he spun back around. Rachel turned to stare at him in concern. "Rachel, I just want to get married."

She bit into her bottom lip, with cheeks still wet from the trail of her tears. "S-so do I, but..."

"No, no...don't do that," Finn begged, crossing back to her in two long strides and tipping her chin up until she was looking into his eyes. "Don't start doubting us. Let's just get married now. We'll figure the rest out later."

"Sounds like a solid plan to me," Santana drawled sarcastically, only to have Mercedes give her shoulder a shove as she shushed her.

Rachel's eyes slid away from Finn and up to the clock that now read 5:15 pm, pulling everyone's gaze with her, including a very upset Finn. "I think...maybe we need to...reschedule," she managed to choke out.

Finn shook his head in denial. "No. I'll go check with the judge, okay? Maybe he can still squeeze us in."

"And then what?" Rachel asked in a small voice.

"Rachel?"

"No...it...it doesn't feel right anymore, Finn," she told him tearfully. "Not after all of this," she waved her hand around at everyone in the room who'd been waiting with baited breath as their happy day had fallen apart, "and…Quinn still isn't here yet."

"Where the hell is Lucy Q, anyway?" Santana wondered out loud. "It's not like she lives more than ten minutes away."

Rachel's brows furrowed, and she glanced again at the phone in her hand. "I should call her," she muttered, "tell her not to bother coming now."

"Jesus," Finn cursed, "who cares? This whole disaster is her fault."

"Yeah, blame it on someone who isn't even here," Santana spat, "not like anything is ever your fault."

"Stop it," Rachel screamed. "Just stop it, please," she sobbed, wrapping her arms around her stomach in misery. She suddenly looked so much younger, like a little girl playing dress up and crying because her parents have yelled at her for ruining her best dress. It was sadly close to the truth.

Finn reached for her, "Hey, I'm sorry, Rach," he murmured as he eased her into a gentle hug. "This all just…sucks," he complained, and Rachel only cried harder, turning her face into his chest. Kurt felt uncomfortable watching them, and he had the sense that everyone else felt the same way, until...

"So, just to be clear, there's no wedding today, right?" Sugar asked. Rachel choked back a particularly loud, shoulder-shaking sob as everyone else glared incredulously at Sugar.

"Shh, it's okay," Finn whispered into her hair. "We'll just get married next week. I'll make another appointment, okay?"

Kurt shook his head in disbelief, and dropped into the nearest chair, grateful when he felt Blaine take his hand. How could Finn possibly still think this marriage would be a good idea? He only prayed that Rachel would finally start thinking rationally about the whole thing.

Around him, their friends started silently picking up their belongings and heading out, leaving Rachel still weeping in Finn's arms, and their parents in quiet discussion. He pressed his forehead into his palm and sighed, listening to the rustle of dresses, the whispers and the weeping, and, again, the screaming of a siren briefly drowning out the sounds of a thwarted wedding.

Blaine leaned in a pressed a light kiss to his cheek. "Hey, do you want me to take you home?"

Kurt raised his head and glanced around the room, noticing that Rachel had settled down a bit, enough that she'd moved out of Finn's arms and into Hiram's. Finn, looking lost and upset, had retreated into the far corner with his arms crossed defensively. Carol was trying to talk to him, but he wasn't having it, and Burt and Leroy were still speaking quietly. Other than Blaine and himself, the only other members of the aborted wedding party who remained were Brittany and Santana, who'd dug her phone out of her purse and was tapping her nails impatiently on the plastic while she waited for someone to pick up. Kurt's attention was drawn to her, even more so when her eyes flashed and she growled in frustration, tossing the phone onto the sofa beside her. "Where the fuck is she?"

"Are you trying to call Quinn?" he asked quietly.

She nodded tersely, "Keeps going to voice mail. Bitch is gonna be so pissed that she missed the free show."

Kurt smiled, thinking that had she been here, she'd have probably added her voice to the chorus of objections. He'd honestly been surprised that she'd even agreed to come and support Rachel and Finn after having been so vocally opposed.

"She'll be happy, though," Brittany mused. "Rachel's, like, her cockroach, and being married to Finn would have squished her."

Santana's eyebrows furrowed as she gazed at her girlfriend, and Kurt glanced from them to Blaine with his own eyebrows raised in question. Blaine only shrugged in confusion. "Her…cockroach?" Kurt finally asked.

"Yeah, you know, the little bug on her shoulder that tells her what's right and wrong," Brittany explained. They all kept looking at her blankly until she rolled her eyes and added, "Like in _Pinocchio_."

"That was a cricket, baby," Santana explained gently, smiling as she did so, "and I don't think Berry is anything close to being Quinn's conscience."

Kurt chuckled, "I don't know. I think Brittany may have a point." He thought about Quinn's trip through crazy town earlier in the year, and how Rachel had tried several times to reach out to her.

Santana shook her head, and picked up her phone again with a frown. "She should have been here by now."

"I'm sure she's probably running into the courthouse as we speak," Blaine said with a smile.

As if on cue, Santana's phone rang, and they all jumped in surprise. Kurt pressed a hand to his suddenly racing heart, and Santana laughed. "It's my dad's number," she explained before she accepted the call.

Kurt turned his head to give her some privacy, looking again at Rachel and wondering what was going on in that head of hers in that moment. Her eyes were focused unseeingly out the nearby window, and her mouth was turned down into a pensive frown. This experience was hardly going to make for good memories, whether she and Finn eventually got married or not.

"No," Santana suddenly wailed in anguish, and everyone's head whipped around to look at her ashen face. "N-no, Papi, you're wrong. It's not her. She…she's on her way here."

Kurt's stomach twisted, and he gripped Blaine's hand tighter. Everyone knew that Santana's father was a doctor—a cardiologist at Lima Memorial Hospital—and there was only one person who was supposed to be on her way to the courthouse.

"Quinn?" Rachel whispered, yet it echoed through the room like an explosion. He wondered if the agony he heard in that one quiet rasp came from Rachel's broken voice, or from his own soul.

Santana shook her head in denial and curled in on herself—even as Brittany's arms wrapped around her—dropping the phone and haltingly gasping, "sh-she's…the…hospital…ac-ac…ci…dent."

Kurt was vaguely aware of everything happening at once—of Brittany crying and holding a near hysterical Santana as closely and as tightly as she could; of Finn jerking away from the wall and spinning around to punch it with an anguished cry of denial; of Carol falling into his father's arms; of Blaine dragging him into a tearful hug, and of Rachel, collapsing into a boneless heap on the floor as her fathers scrambled to ease her fall.

_xox_

Nine years later, Rachel Berry is once again standing in a wedding dress, waiting for Quinn Fabray. The dress is a thousand times nicer than the first one in Kurt's opinion, but that's neither here nor there. He has a duty as the man of honor to keep his bride from descending into complete meltdown. Truthfully, he should have seen this coming. Though Quinn's accident and the tumultuous months that had followed are rarely mentioned by any of them, every so often, something will evoke the memory and remind them of how close they'd come to losing Quinn.

For Rachel, it's a reminder of how close she'd come to never having her—never loving and being loved by her.

If the look on Rachel's face is any indication, she's about thirty seconds away from a full-blown crying session, and he's not about to have her completely ruin her makeup. Now that he thinks about it, Kurt is surprised that it's taken Rachel this long to start freaking out. She's been overflowing with excitement about this wedding from almost the very day that she proposed, and while he can recall a handful of joking references to her first disastrous attempt in the months that they'd been planning for this one, not one of those has fallen from Rachel's lips. Quinn, on the other hand, has been having the time of her life teasing Rachel over every little detail of this wedding, barring any actual mention of the previous interrupted ceremony or the reason for it.

"Come here, sweetie," he prompts, tucking her into his chest when she obediently steps into his arms. "You and Quinn are going to have an amazing life together," he promises, "so think less _West Side Story _and more _Mamma Mia!_"

She stifles a laugh, weakly slapping his chest, "That's a terrible example, Kurt."

He chuckles, "But it's a happy musical comedy with an over-the-top, romantic ending," he tips Rachel's face up and smiles down at her, "and that's exactly what you and Quinn deserve."

Kurt has always respected Quinn Fabray, but he's truly come to love and appreciate her in the last several years, in large part because she is absolutely perfect for Rachel. She's a realist where Rachel is a dreamer, calm where Rachel is intense, and cautious where Rachel is confident. They complement one another beautifully, and he could kick himself for not seeing it sooner.

He can still remember the first time that he'd realized that Quinn was completely in love with his friend, one summer evening while they'd all still been in college. They were having dinner, the three of them and Santana, who'd ended up pre-med at Columbia, and he happened to glance over at Quinn while Rachel was rambling about her summer acting troop, only to choke on his water when he noticed the look of absolute love and devotion on Quinn's face. So much of their past started to make sense, and his heart had broken for Quinn, thinking that her feelings would never be reciprocated. Oh, how wrong he'd been. It may have taken Rachel a few more years to open her eyes and see what was right in front of her, but once she did, she'd fallen hard and fast.

Rachel sighs, and steps away, looking far more composed, but still nervous. "You're right, I know, but… Could you please, please just go and check on Quinn? It will make me feel so much better."

He chuckles, "You could always just tex…" he snaps his mouth shut before he sets her off again, "never mind. I'll just pop over to the other dressing room and see if your bride looks as fabulous in her dress as you do."

Rachel grins goofily, whispering, "my bride" with reverence, and then throws her arms around Kurt again, catching him off guard and causing him to stumble backwards with his arms full of Rachel Berry. "Thank you, Kurt."

"Okay, okay," he laughingly pries her arms from around his neck, "I'll be right back," but she stops him with a hand on his arm.

"Tell her that I love her."

He rolls his eyes, "If I must."

He tries to turn, but she tugs his arm again, "Oh, and check to make sure that her bouquet has green ribbons like I instructed."

"Rachel," he sighs.

"And please make sure that Santana didn't carry through with her threat to wear that awful, strapless dress instead of the one I specifically chose for her."

"Rachel," he growls.

"And…"

"No," he interrupts, lifting her hand off his sleeve and smoothing out the wrinkles she's left. "I'm going to make sure that Quinn is safely on the premises, and then I am coming right back here, because, sweetie, you are about to turn into Bridezilla, and trust me, no one wants to see that."

Rachel crosses her arms with a huff, reluctantly nodding. "Just tell her that I love her, and I can't wait to marry her."

"That I will certainly do," he vows, quickly kissing her cheek before he finally manages to escape...well, almost.

"And could you find out where my dads have disappeared to?"

Kurt shakes his head and keeps walking, heading down the hallway toward the other dressing room.

He smiles when he sees Leroy and Hiram Berry, standing just around the corner, but his smile slips slightly when he notices their serious expressions and hushed conversation. A feeling of dread starts to bubble in the pit of his stomach, not unlike the one he'd experienced nine years ago.

"What's wrong?" he asks instantly.

"Nothing's wrong, Kurt," Leroy calmly assures him, and Kurt feels his tension ease, if only marginally. Leroy wouldn't lie on his daughter's wedding day.

"No, nothing at all," Hiram adds, although his slight agitation gives him away. "Absolutely no problems with this wedding going off exactly as planned. Don't be at all concerned. In fact, why don't you just go on back in there with Rachel? Leroy and I will be along before you know it."

"Oh, no. I'm not going back in that room with your extremely, uptight daughter unless I've seen and touched Quinn," Kurt informs them. "So if you'll excuse me," he attempts to skirt around the Berrys, but Leroy's hand on his shoulder stops him short.

"Well, Kurt, there could be just a small problem with that plan."

"Very small," Hiram agreed, pinching his thumb and forefinger together, "miniscule, really."

"You see," Leroy explains gently, "Quinn isn't actually here."

"Yet! She's not here _yet_," Hiram stresses, "but she's on her way as we speak."

Kurt has a very unpleasant flashback, and he slumps sideways against the wall, dragging a hand through his hair, careless of the fact that he's completely messing up the perfect styling he'd achieved. Quinn isn't here, and there is absolutely no way in hell that he's going back in that room with Rachel and telling her that Quinn is _on her way_.

"Shit," he mutters.


	2. Keep The Memory Of Your Face

_**Part Two: Keep the Memory Of Your Face**_

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><p>"I cannot fucking believe this!"<p>

Santana Lopez winces at the f-bomb being spat in her general direction, and she warily glances across the limo to meet flashing hazel eyes and bared teeth. So much for a happy, blushing bride. Aside from the hissing and spitting, Quinn looks gorgeous. Her short hair is worked into a soft, feathery style that makes her look like a classic Hollywood movie star resurrected, and her dress is simple, yet romantic, with short, off-the-shoulder sleeves and a modest neckline. She should look sweet and innocent, but even after all these years, Quinn Fabray can be one scary bitch when she wants to be.

"Today, of all days, you just had to get into a shouting match with the damned hotel manager," Quinn growls, "over a bottle of champagne! On my wedding day, Santana! And now we're fucking late! For my wedding!" Quinn screeches again, lifting her hand to rub at the little vein pulsing on her forehead.

Santana bites back the urge to respond with some inappropriate, snarky comment, because if Quinn is resorting to excessive cursing, then she's seriously pissed off, and Santana would prefer not to have a catfight in the back of a limousine, thirty minutes before Quinn's wedding. Oh, make that twenty-five, she thinks guiltily when she checks her phone.

Okay, so maybe she shouldn't have picked a fight with that _hijo de puta_, but she'll be damned if she's going to pay three hundred and seventy five dollars for a bottle of Dom Pérignon that wasn't even chilled. The room service guy hadn't even brought the damned chocolate covered strawberries that were supposed to be served with it. How is she supposed to properly toast to her best friend's wedding day with that sub-par shit? Hell, poor Quinn already has a sub-par bride.

Yeah, Rachel loves her—whatever—and Quinn thinks the crazy, little diva hung the fucking moon. And maybe Santana is kind of really happy for them, even if it did take Rachel _years_ to get her big head out of her tight, little ass where Quinn is concerned. She can't deny that they're disgustingly perfect for one another, and she can admit that she may be a little bit jealous of what they have.

"I'm sorry, okay?" she finally offers. Really though, her verbal smack down has only put them maybe ten minutes behind schedule. It's this insane New York City traffic that's really making them late. Maybe Berry should have picked a better venue than Central Park with it's snarled up traffic patterns.

Or maybe Quinn shouldn't have insisted on spending the night in a pretentious, overpriced hotel instead of the apartment that she's shared with Rachel for the last three and a half years. Screw all of those stupid traditions. If it was Santana, she'd be screwing her hot fiancée all night for one last round of awesome, premarital sex—but, _no_, Quinn has to be all prim and proper about it. She could have at least picked a hotel closer to the damn park!

Their limo is currently stuck in near standstill traffic on Madison Avenue at 71st Street, courtesy of the never-ending summer construction projects that are constantly popping up out of nowhere. The muted sound of horns blaring outside—the soundtrack of the city—fail to completely drown out Quinn's shuddering breath. Santana's stomach coils into an unpleasant knot when she looks over at her friend.

_Fuck!_

She hates seeing Quinn cry—always has. It's been a far too frequent occurrence over the last twelve years of their friendship, and Santana isn't particularly skilled at the whole comfort thing. She tries anyway, muttering a quiet "hey" as she slides across the plush leather seat, cautiously lifting Quinn's hand, and carefully prying curled fingers away from her palm so that she can slip her own hand under Quinn's. "Q—what's with the waterworks? You don't want to walk down the aisle looking like a raccoon, do you?"

Honestly, she'd prefer a good bitch slap over the stifled sob that she gets instead. Quinn's eyes are fixed on the window at the cars crawling along beside them. She tugs her hand away and wipes at the tears glistening on her cheeks in frustration. "God, why can't anything ever go the way it's supposed to?" she rasps out thickly.

Santana swallows past the lump in her throat, feeling awful and guilty for her teeny, tiny part in putting them a little bit behind schedule, but, "It's not like Rachel's going to call off the wedding just because you're a few minutes late, Quinn. That woman is crazy for you—well, crazy in general—and anyway, I already sent a text to let them know we might be a little delayed, but we're definitely on the way."

Quinn's head snaps to the left so fast that Santana expects it to spin all the way around, like that freaky demonic girl in that schlocky, old movie with the priest. The burning red eyes kind of make her wonder if Quinn actually is possessed. "You sent a text?" she demands harshly.

"Well, yeah, that's what I just said," Santana begins cattily, until the eerie _d_éjà vu __slams into her full force, and her eyes widen. "Oh, fuck," she mutters, reaching out to Quinn when she registers the anguish in her expression. "I didn't even think about it," she whispers, and she hadn't. She doesn't...not if she can help it. "But I didn't text Rachel, I swear. I texted daddy Leroy, and he's got it covered. So just...don't go there okay?"

She slides in closer to Quinn, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and tucking their heads together. She can feel Quinn trembling in her arms, hear and feel the stuttering, shallow breathes, and she wants to kick herself. "Shh, it's in the past, Quinn. Today is _your_ day. You're going to marry the love of your life and get the happily ever after that you damn well deserve."

Quinn shudders and sniffles, "I want to believe that," she admit is a small, tremulous voice. "You have no idea how much I want to, but I've been so happy for so long now...and I...I keep waiting for something bad to happen to take it all away."

Santana's heart twists, and she blinks back the sting of her own tears. "Not gonna happen," she swears adamantly. Damn it, she's going to have to redo her own makeup, in addition to Quinn's, once they get to the Boathouse. "God gave you enough bad shit to deal with before you even hit your twenties, I think you're due some good karma for at least the next twenty years or so. You and Rachel, both."

Quinn chuckles sadly, "From your mouth..."

"Everyday, Quinn," she confesses softly.

Santana's loved ones are in her prayers everyday—since_ that_ day, so many years ago...

_xox_

She didn't have a very clear memory of how she'd gotten to Lima Memorial Hospital, or the details of what transpired in those moments (hours) between the time she'd answered her father's phone call until she'd slumped into an uncomfortable-as-fuck orange chair in the waiting area. She only knew that she'd never been more terrified in her life. Being outed on television was a joyride compared to the soul-ripping fear for Quinn that wouldn't let up.

Most of the glee club had already completed a mass exodus from the courthouse by the time the news had come, and no one really thought to call them back until long after they'd scrambled into their cars and sped to the hospital. Santana and Brittany had ended up squeezed in the back of an SUV with Blaine and Kurt, while Burt drove the four of them and Carol. She didn't know, or particularly care, how the rest of them had gotten there.

Quinn was already in surgery when they'd arrived. Doctor Lopez had called Judy Fabray right before he'd called his daughter, but the Hudson-Berry wedding-that-wasn't party had beaten the woman there by a good fifteen minutes, so no one would tell them anything. Santana clearly recalled demanding to speak to her father, and begging him for information on Quinn. He wasn't able to tell her very much, since he wasn't involved in her surgery, but he'd revealed that Quinn had suffered severe trauma to her left side, and that the immediate danger was a punctured lung and internal bleeding that the surgical team was working to repair. That was at least five hours ago.

Judy had long since shown up, stony and silent—the only outward sign of her distress was the white-knuckle grip she had on a prayer book that she'd borrowed from the hospital chapel. The nurses hadn't been able to tell her much more about Quinn's condition than what they'd already known. She was still in surgery, and they were still working to save her.

The Hummels had gone to the cafeteria for some coffee, Kurt and Blaine included, and the Berry men flanked Rachel, who was still in her wedding dress and staring blindly at the wall. Finn was sitting two chairs away with his head dropped into his hands. They hadn't spoken in more than four hours.

Most of the glee club were waiting it out at home next to their telephones, but Mercedes, Sam and Puck had made their way to the hospital, despite Kurt having promised to call them as soon as he found out any information. They each had their heads bowed in silent prayer.

Santana prayed, too—making deals with God in two languages if he'd just let Quinn be okay. It wasn't fucking fair! That girl had been miserable for three years straight, and just when she finally started to enjoy her life again, a fucking truck hit her on her way to a rushed wedding that never should have been happening.

Her eyes landed on Rachel again, and she felt a rising tide of fury begin to swell inside of her. Rachel fucking Berry, with her fucking immature teenage marriage fantasy, and her fucking insane need to have Quinn's approval. Santana fought down the urge to go over there and slap her. It wasn't the time, or the place, but if she didn't do something—anything—to release some of her rage, she was going to explode.

"It's not her fault," Brittany muttered lowly, and Santana glanced over with a frown. "You look like you want to punch her," she explained, "and you really shouldn't. She's already beating herself up over Quinn."

"Well, she should," Santana hissed. "The only reason Quinn was even in that car in the first place was because of her." She tried to keep her voice soft enough that only Brittany could hear, and Rachel was all the way on the other side of the room, but somehow she must have heard anyway, because she choked back a sob and muttered a stilted apology to her dads before she bolted.

Finn stood up to go after her, but Hiram grabbed hold of his wrist and shook his head, "Just give her a few minutes." Finn sighed and sank back into his chair, while Santana dug her nails into the armrest. She wanted to chase Berry down and have at it, but Brittany was squeezing her hand tighter, wordlessly keeping her grounded.

"Being angry won't fix Quinn," Brittany said sadly, and Santana bit into her lip. She turned in her seat and buried her head into her girlfriend's shoulder, furiously blinking against the familiar sting of tears. Brittany was right. Blaming Rachel wouldn't change any-damn-thing. Quinn was fighting for her life, and Santana—all of them—could do nothing but wait.

The Hummels returned from the cafeteria and resumed the vigil, but fifteen more minutes passed before Rachel finally came back. Her white dress had dirt stains all along skirt, and her face was scrubbed free of all make-up, drawing even more attention to her puffy, red eyes. Finn was up in an instant, pulling her close and trying to hold her. She allowed his embrace for maybe thirty seconds before she shrugged him off and sat in a corner chair beside Kurt, leaving Finn no way to sit next her. She leaned her head against the wall and stared forward, not even reacting when Kurt reached over to hold her hand.

They stayed like that—silent and pensive—for another hour until a tall, redhead in blood-speckled surgical scrubs appeared in front of them, introduced herself as Doctor Stewart, and asked for the family of Quinn Fabray. Santana jerked straight up in her seat, and felt her stomach roll when she realized it was Quinn's blood that was decorating the woman's blue top. She honestly thought she was going to puke, and she took a deep breath, leaned forward in her seat with an arm wrapped across her stomach, and tried to focus on Brittany's hand rubbing circles on her back as she listened to the words spilling out of the doctor's mouth.

"Quinn's out of surgery, and she's being moved into the critical care unit right now until she regains consciousness, and we can better assess her condition. She's stable, though, and out of danger for the moment."

Judy Fabray sagged into her seat with a relieved sob. "Thank God," she whispered, and Hiram Berry took her hand and offered her a comforting smile.

"What do you mean for the moment?" Rachel managed to ask in a wavering voice.

Doctor Stewart briefly turned her head to acknowledge Rachel, but she addressed Judy directly when she answered, "She has three broken ribs, which resulted in a punctured lung. We stopped the internal bleeding and stabilized the lung, but there's still a small chance it may collapse, so we put in a tube to drain any excess fluid and air from her chest cavity. It will have to stay in place for at least two or three days. She's also on a ventilator until we can be certain that she's breathing on her own."

Santana's own breathing was shallow as she battled tears and nausea. A quick glance around the room told her that she wasn't alone. Everyone looked horrified, and Judy pressed trembling fingers to her mouth as tears streamed unchecked down her cheeks.

"Quinn also suffered a concussion, but there doesn't appear to be any skull fractures or major contusions on her brain. All things considered, she's very lucky, and I fully believe the side air bag was paramount in protecting her from more extensive injuries. We do have her in a neck brace as a preventative measure until she comes out of the anesthesia, and we're able to further evaluate her injuries."

"But her neck's not, like, broken or anything, right?" Puck demands.

Doctor Stewart shakes her head, "Again, Quinn is very lucky in that respect. There aren't any fractures to her neck or spine, but there was some minor compression between her T-12 and L-2 vertebrae. We administered a corticosteroid, but," she paused and took a breath, "we have to wait until she's awake and the swelling diminishes until we'll be able to make a full diagnosis. Her spinal cord is intact, however, and at this point, we're cautiously optimistic."

"But we just have to wait and see?" Judy whispered.

"I'm afraid so," Doctor Stewart told her sympathetically.

Santana dug her nails into her palm and focused on the pain in an attempt to block out the image of Quinn being stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of her life...like Artie.

"Now, as for Quinn's other injuries..."

Judy blanched, "There's more?"

Santana bit into the inside of her cheek to keep from whimpering, and Brittany started to sniffle beside her. Doctor Stewart sighed, assuring them, "None of them are life-threatening. Quinn has numerous cuts and abrasions on her face and arms, some of which required stitches. Her left shoulder was dislocated, and her left arm and wrist are broken. The orthopedic surgeon, Doctor Rao, set and casted those bones without difficulty, but Quinn also suffered multiple compound fractures in her left leg. Her tibia and fibula were broken and displaced, and the bone fragments did cause some damage to the surrounding muscles and tendons. Doctor Rao was able to remove the shards, but he needed to place a rod and pins in her leg in order to reset the bones. There's a possibility that Quinn may require some additional surgery in the future, depending on how well it heals, and she'll almost certainly need physiotherapy to regain mobility in that leg."

"Oh, my poor, Quinnie."

"She just got back on the cheerios," Rachel rasped. Santana wanted to rail at her for being stupid and shallow, but she let the inane comment go, instead focusing on the fact that Quinn was alive, and apparently, out of danger for now. Quinn just needed to wake up. Broken bones would mend, and cuts would heal—if anyone could survive getting t-boned by a pickup truck, it was Quinn fucking Fabray.

"Can I see her?" Judy asked.

Doctor Stewart nodded, "Just for a few minutes, though."

Judy stood on shaky legs, and Hiram tucked a supportive hand under her arm to steady her. She managed a small smile of gratitude, and, after tearfully thanking the doctor, she followed the woman out of the waiting area, leaving the rest of them sitting there and staring at one another in stunned silence.

"She'll be okay," Mercedes insisted, "Quinn's a fighter. Her lung will heal and she'll be back on her feet in no time."

No one dared contradict her. Even the thought of any other outcome was unacceptable. Santana finally noticed her father leaning against the far wall, and she called out to him, "Papi, when will we be able to see Quinn?"

Alejandro Lopez straightened, and stepped over to his daughter, "I'm sorry, mija, but you'll have to wait until tomorrow. Critical care is very strict on visitors, but if all goes well, your friend could be moved into a private room in the next few days. For now, you should all go home and get some rest," he told them all, brushing Santana's hair back from her forehead in a comforting gesture. "My rounds are over, mi preciosa. Why don't you let me drive you girls home?"

"I'm staying," Santana stubbornly insisted. She hadn't been there for Quinn through her pregnancy, not like she should have been, and she'd let her down earlier this year, too. She'd been a shitty friend, but she was done with that. Quinn was her soul sister—they understood one another in ways no one else ever would, even when they were being complete bitches to each other. She wasn't going to let Quinn down again.

Alejandro sighed, "There's nothing more you can do tonight, mija. Go home, rest. You can come back first thing tomorrow morning. I'll ask the critical care nurse to call me if anything changes with Quinn's condition. Okay?"

She glanced at Brittany, who nodded tearfully, "We have to stay strong, too. So we can be strong for Quinn." Santana smiled at her girlfriend and squeezed her hand. She was suddenly exhausted, so she let her father pull her up from her chair, and tucked herself into Brittany's side.

The others were heading out as well. Puck looked ready to stay, but Sam said something to him that had Puck hooking an arm around his shoulders in a quick, gruff hug, and the boys started walking together. Finn scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck as he watched Rachel, who was quietly arguing with her dads—the very same argument that Santana had just had with her own father. She glared at the girl as she passed, briefly catching her eyes, and she saw unexpected anguish reflected back at her. Rachel really was hurting over Quinn, and, damn it, Santana didn't want to empathize with her. She wanted to blame her, but... What was the point?

Despite leaving the hospital, Santana hadn't gotten much sleep that night, even though Brittany had stayed and held her until morning. Her parents didn't have the heart to object to the arrangement under the circumstances. The phone never rang, and Santana needed to believe that was a good sign.

She arrived back at the hospital at eight o'clock the next morning, hand in hand with Brittany. She supposed that she shouldn't have been surprised to see Rachel already there, perched on a chair and clutching a cup of coffee, but she was surprised to see her looking so...un-Rachel-like. She looked worse that when St. James egged her in the parking lot—all messy ponytail, no makeup, and yoga pants. Santana glanced around, looking for the three hundred pound cancerous growth that was usually attached to Rachel's side, but there was no sign of Hudson anywhere. She didn't question the small favor, and instead asked, "Any news?"

Rachel shook her head, "She's still unconscious, but her vitals are strong. She was breathing over the ventilator, so they took it off early this morning. Her mother's in with her now."

Santana noticed the dark circles under her eyes, and the gritty hoarseness to her usually clear voice. "You haven't been here all night, have you?" Because, damn it, if Berry had stuck it out while her father dragged her ass home, she'd be seriously pissed.

"No, I...I just...couldn't really sleep, and I couldn't sit at home and...and do nothing, so I came back here."

"Yeah...us, too," Santana admitted as she settled into the seat next to Rachel, and Brittany followed on her other side.

"Noah said he's coming back this afternoon. I think he wanted to...to see B-Beth, and maybe," Rachel's words trailed off with a shake of her head. "Mercedes is coming after church—Sam, too—but I think most of the others are waiting until...until Quinn wakes up," Rachel finished haltingly.

Santana frowned. She really should have been at church this morning, but she figured God would forgive her under the circumstances. Her prayers wouldn't be any louder there than here. "Do you know if we'll be able to see Quinn today?"

Rachel shrugged, "Mrs. Fabray was only allowed back in her room about fifteen minutes ago. Quinn can't have more than two visitors at a time...and I...well, she...she needs her mom with her now. I don't belong there," she muttered in a low, sorrowful rasp.

The muscles of Rachel's throat convulsed as she stared down into her coffee cup like it was the most interesting thing in the world. She turned the Styrofoam around in a maddeningly slow circle, stopping every other rotation to pick at the same spot on the rim. In fact, since Santana and Brittany had arrived, Rachel hadn't once looked either one of them in the eyes.

Her own eyes narrowed on Rachel, then she turned to Brittany with a soft smile, "Hey, Brit, baby, you know what I think Quinn would absolutely love to wake up to?" she asked sweetly, watching her girlfriend's eyebrows raise in interest. "One of those cute, little stuffed mice from the gift shop. Why don't you go buy her one?" Santana urged, digging in her pocket and pulling out her (okay, her father's) debit card.

"You know, you don't have to distract me with stuffed animals," Brittany told her as she took the card, "You could just say you want to talk to Rachel alone," and Santana chuckled quietly and shook her head, because her girlfriend always seemed to know what she was up to. Brittany smiled and softly pecked her lips, "but I think you're totally right about the mouse, anyway." She stood and floated away with all of the grace that Santana had come to expect from Brittany's every movement, and when she was out of sight, Santana turned her attention to Rachel with a frown.

"Okay listen up, midget," she growled, finally seeing those red, watery brown eyes jerk up to meet hers, "I get that you're feeling guilty, and frankly, you should be," she said unapologetically, not caring that Rachel gasped and teared up even more. "If Quinn hadn't been on her way to _your_ stupid-ass wedding, none of this would be happening." Rachel tried to look away in shame, but Santana reached out and cupped her chin to stop her, more gently than she expected to, "But don't you fucking dare make any of this about _you,_" she spat, dropping her hand away, "_Quinn_ is the one who was driving. She's the one who got hurt and who is laying in that hospital room, facing a long painful recovery. She's going to need her friends to support her and keep her positive. She doesn't need to deal with your guilt-ridden, melodramatic bullshit. So if you're only here to ease your conscience, you can just step off now."

Rachel's eyes flashed, and her expression turned fierce. "That's _not_ why I'm here, Santana. I _care_ about Quinn. She...she's my friend, and I...I just want her to be okay," she wiped at the moisture on her cheeks and sniffled, "but it _is_ my fault this happened. The...the police contacted Mrs. Fabray...and...t-they think Q-Quinn...that she was texting...and that's why she ran the stop sign," Rachel admitted brokenly.

Santana stared at her, curled in on herself and crying again, and she tasted bile. The urge to punch Rachel returned full-force, but she also wanted to go into Quinn's room and rage at her, because fuck! Quinn should have fucking known better than to do that shit while she was driving. Santana dug her nails into her thighs and took a deep breath. Brittany would be pissed if she went off in the hospital, not to mention the earful she'd get from her father.

"Fuck," Santana barked loudly, not giving a crap that several heads turned to glare at her. Rachel's sobs got louder, and Santana hesitated for a moment before she awkwardly placed her hand on Rachel's back. She stiltedly patted a shoulder, and rolled her eyes when Rachel showed no sign of calming. "Look, if Quinn was texting while she was driving, then," she swallowed heavily, "then that's on her. It doesn't change anything. She's still going to need all of us, and you can't be laying your guilt on her to make yourself feel better, or you're just going to make it harder for her, okay?"

Rachel sucked in a shaky breath, nodding jerkily before she rubbed at her eyes, and sniffled pathetically. "I...I don't even care if she hates me again...as long as she's okay."

Santana sighed and closed her eyes. "She won't hate you, Rachel." She wouldn't ever say how she knew that, but she did. She knew a lot of things that she didn't want to know. "She might hate herself for awhile—maybe hate the whole world in general, but eventually, she'll be okay again. Because she's Quinn Fabray, and she always finds a way to come back stronger than before."

Rachel glanced over at her with a sad, half-smile, "Quinn is really lucky to have you as a friend, Santana."

"Yeah, well," she shrugged, "same goes, I guess."

"Could I...maybe hug you now?" Rachel asked timidly.

Santana wrinkled her nose and looked at Rachel incredulously, "Yeah, no...that's not ever happening." Maybe she wasn't planning to dig out her razor blades and go Lima Heights on Berry right now, but she wasn't anywhere near ready to get all touchy-feely with her either. Rachel visibly deflated, but nodded in understanding.

They sat in silence for a few more minutes until Brittany skipped back, clutching a stuffed mouse with red and white polka dotted ears. She slid into the chair beside Santana with a grin. "Isn't it the cutest thing ever?"

Santana smiled back, "Yeah, baby. Quinn is going to love it."

Brittany held the little mouse's arms between her fingers and clapped them together. "Did you play nice with Rachel?"

Next to her, Rachel chuckled quietly, and Santana shot her a dirty look. "We had a lovely chat, Brittany. Thank you," Rachel said politely.

Santana sighed and reached for Brittany's hand, slumping back into her chair to wait for any news. It wasn't long before Mercedes and Sam showed up, suspiciously together. Santana considered herself a fairly good judge of body language, and she was willing to bet good money that those two would be all lovey-dovy again in a week—two, tops. Her eyes cut back to Rachel, who'd finally tossed her coffee cup and had taken to twisting her engagement ring around her finger instead. She wondered again why her fiancé wasn't there with her, but she honestly didn't want to see his moronic face, so she wasn't complaining. She'd bet good money those two ended up in divorce-ville before they were twenty-one—if they even got married at all now.

Eventually, Santana was pulled from her thoughts when Judy Fabray appeared in the waiting area. She sat up straight in her seat, eyes raking over the woman's shining eyes and hesitant smile, and she felt the vice that had been squeezing her heart for the last sixteen hours finally begin to ease.

"She's awake."

_xox_

In the back of the limo, Santana gives Quinn's shoulder a comforting squeeze as she shakes off the lingering memories. When she lets herself, she can still see Quinn's bruised and battered face in vivid, high-definition, technicolor. She sees the casts on her leg and arm, the stitches on her forehead, and that damned chest tube draining blood and mucus from her body. But she can also remember, in beautiful detail, Quinn's swollen hazel eyes, open and locked onto hers when she and Brittany had first entered her room, and her pained, hesitant smile. Santana had thanked God and sworn that she'd have Quinn's back from that day forward.

She's managed to keep that promise. She was there through Quinn's difficult recuperation, wheelchair and all. She was there to wish Quinn good luck when she left for New Haven. She was there for all of the tears and freak-outs when Quinn finally admitted that she's a big, fat lesbian. And Santana has been there through the entirety of the Rachel Berry saga—through all of Quinn's repressed bullshit in high school, to the unrequited love disguised as friendship in college, and finally (finally!) to the relief of watching Rachel wake the fuck up and realize that she'd been falling in love with Quinn all along. So yeah, she's ridiculously happy for Quinn—and for Rachel, too—even if her own love life hasn't exactly turned out the way she thought it would. She's going to make damn sure that Quinn gets to her wedding on time—well, sort of on time.

She glances out the window, happy to see that the limo is starting to make a little progress. They're finally turning onto 72nd Street. If they get stuck again, "We can always make a run for it on foot." Quinn's eyebrow spikes into a pointed arc, and Santana snickers, "It's only about a mile."

"Not in my wedding dress, Santana," Quinn growls, but her lips are trying to curve, and Santana is happy to see her mood begin to lift.

"What? Berry isn't worth a little hike?"

Quinn's eyes go soft, and she stops fighting her smile. "Rachel is worth it...but I'm not about to meet her at the altar all gross and sweaty," she huffs.

"Yeah...I guess that's for the honeymoon," Santana teases, wiggling her eyebrows until Quinn elbows her in the ribs. "Oof...jeez, sensitive much?"

"Please tell me your wedding toast isn't going to be dripping with sexual innuendos," Quinn demands.

"Uh...no?" Santana hesitates, wondering if she can manage to mentally rewrite it during the ceremony. Quinn drops her forehand back into her palm, but at least she's smiling this time. "Hey, we're almost there," Santana observes as the limo rolls past the entrance to the park.

Quinn sighs in relief, "Finally."

Santana checks her phone. Miraculously, they're only about ten minutes late—but she doesn't point this out to Quinn, since those ten minutes are kind of Santana's fault. The moment the limo stops at the Boathouse, Quinn's hand is on the door and pushing it open. Santana rolls her eyes at Quinn's impatience, but she knows better than to say anything.

Hiram Berry is standing outside to meet them. He smiles widely when he sees Quinn, and leans down to press a kiss to her cheek. "You look absolutely breathtaking, my dear."

Quinn blushes a pretty shade of pink. "Thank you."

He tucks her arm into his, and escorts her inside, "What do you say we get you married?"

She sighs in gratitude, "Please."

They're barely a step inside the door when Kurt comes flying at them, throwing himself at Quinn and wrapping her up in a fierce hug, "Thank God you're here." Quinn gasps in surprise, and hugs him back, giggling a little. "You have no idea what I've been through," he pulls back and looks her over with a frown, "Oh, honey, your makeup is an absolute horror."

Quinn scowls, and Santana scoffs at Kurt, "What _you've_ been through? I'm the one who's been stuck in a limo for forty-five minutes with the Crying Queen," she hooks her thumb at Quinn.

Kurt crosses his arms at levels his gaze on Santana, "Two words, Santana. Rachel. Berry," he reminds her solemnly.

Quinn smacks his shoulder hard, and Santana laughs until Quinn turns that fierce glare back on her. "Whose fault is it that we're late again, Santana?"

Three sets of accusatory eyes fall on her and she bristles, throwing her hands out. "What? We made it here, didn't we?"

Kurt shakes his head, wrapping an arm around Quinn's waist. "Come on, let's get you touched up so we can get this show on the road."

"How's Rachel?" she asks worriedly.

"Insane," he tells with a smile, giving her a quick squeeze, "but she'll be perfect as soon as she sees you."

Quinn's eyes sparkle, and her smile is absolutely radiant. "Then let's not keep her waiting any longer," she commands.

Santana smiles softly and starts to follow them, but as they pass by the Lake Room, she can't resist the urge to peek inside at the guests. She tells herself that she isn't looking for anyone in particular, but she can't help scanning the room for a familiar head of blonde hair. It's been a few of years now, but she can't help feeling a sense of fond nostalgia at the thought of seeing her first love. She doesn't even know if Brittany has managed to get away from her tour stop in Chicago. Her RSVP had been typical Brittany, in that she'd sent it back with a smiley face and a _'so happy for you'_ written in red ink, but no indication of whether or not she'd be attending.

Santana spots Judy Fabray sitting stiffly in the front row. She isn't completely on board with the wedding—she's been living in hope that Quinn will switch teams again, and meet some nice man and get married and have babies. Today probably sucks for her, but she's here because, even if she doesn't understand Quinn's choices, she loves her daughter and she doesn't want to lose her again. Santana can respect that.

Mercedes Jones is three rows back, looking fine with a handsome piece of chocolate eye-candy at her side. Santana thinks she sees Sam Evans, too, but it's been a really long time and she can't be completely sure it's him. Did he go brunette? She'll have to check for the trouty mouth when she gets up front to be certain.

Puckerman's shaved head catches her attention pretty quickly, and she grins. Aside from Kurt, Quinn and Rachel, he's the only person from Lima, other than her family, that she still sees with any kind of regularity, thanks to his eternal connection with Quinn. Actually, the whole group from high school is pretty splintered now. They each have maybe one or two people that they actively stay in touch with.

They all still talk to Mercedes, even though she lives in Los Angeles and they rarely see her in person. Rachel is still Facebook friends with Tina Cohen-Chang, and Kurt meets Dave Karofsky for dinner every time he goes back home to Ohio. Quinn talks to Sam occasionally, and exchanges emails with Artie Abrams, thanks to their weird-ass bonding session after her accident. Santana scans the room, easily finding the wheelchair. She'll have to make a point to say hello to him, since he's turned out to be a pretty decent guy.

Of course, the person she's looking for is the one she can't find, and she tries not to be disappointed. She doesn't talk to Brittany nearly as often as she'd like, but they've managed to piece their friendship back together, slowly but surely. She backs away from the doorway, and is just about to turn and find Quinn, when she runs straight into a towering wall of Axe-scented male. Her head tips back, and she frowns.

Finn fucking Hudson.

"Well, damn," she mutters.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Thank you all so much for the comments. Please keep in mind that I am not a doctor, nor do I play one on t.v., so all medical information is the poor result of the Internet and my Google-Fu. It may not be completely accurate, but hopefully it passes. Feedback is love.


	3. Beneath the Promise Of Blue Skies

_**Part Three: Beneath the Promise of Blue Skies**_

* * *

><p>"Finn Hudson," Santana drawls, dark eyes raking over him in a way that makes him feel vaguely uncomfortable. "You're looking as flaccid and banal as ever," she says with an uncharacteristically sweet smile.<p>

Finn's a little confused by the words, but Santana seems friendly enough, so he returns her smile. "Thanks, Santana. You look...wow," he murmurs, taking in her appearance, "really great, too."

He hasn't seen her since graduation, and it's kind of surreal to be standing in front of her now. Whenever he thinks about Santana Lopez—which isn't, like, a lot, but he can't really forget the girl he lost his virginity to—he pictures her in her cheerio's uniform. She's not wearing that today, obviously, but otherwise, she looks almost the same, except that she has a few more little lines around her eyes. Laugh lines, he's been told. He guesses those are a good thing—it means she must be happy.

"You're just about the last person I expected to see here today," she tells him with a frown as she crosses her arms and cocks her hip. She doesn't look nearly as intimidating as she probably thinks she does, wearing a light green bridesmaid's dress and holding a bouquet of flowers in her hand, but Finn still feels himself shrink a little under her intense gaze.

"Oh…yeah…um…I ran into Rachel and Quinn in Columbus a few months ago," he explains, thinking again of how weird that experience had been, "and Rachel…I mean, _they_…sent me an invitation."

"Well, yeah, I know that," she rolls her eyes, "I just didn't think you'd actually show up."

"Oh," he frowns. "Well, I figured I'd…you know," he scratches the back of neck nervously.

"Try to steal one of the brides away?" she asks cattily, "Because, you know, both of those ships sailed years ago. Sailed, sank, rusted out and turned into food for the gay sharks. Really, _really _gay sharks," she stresses.

Finn doesn't completely understand what she's talking about, but he does pick up on the general idea. "Um...I'm kind of married," he tells her, holding up his left hand to show his wedding ring as proof.

"Kind of?" Santana snorts. "Wow, yeah...congrats on that," and there's the sarcasm that Finn remembers so clearly. He drops his hand and shoves it into the pocket of his slacks with a frown.

"I just thought it'd be nice to see everybody again," he defends, "and, you know, Kurt's my brother and Rachel's his best friend, and it's kind of past time for us to all just, you know, get over it."

Santana's eyes narrow on him, and he feels his face heat in embarrassment. "Newsflash, Finnane," and, damn it, he really doesn't miss those nicknames, "Rachel's been _over it_ for a really long time, and you," she pokes him hard in the chest, "aren't going to drag up any bad memories for her today. Got it?"

"I wouldn't…"

"Good," she snaps. "Now get in there," she demands, pointing at the Lake Room, "slide way, low down in your seat so you don't call attention to your freakishly, tall self, and make sure you forever hold your peace. Got it?"

Finn nods reluctantly, "Yeah, I got it."

Santana smiles and pats his chest, "Well, alright, then." She steps back and smooths out her dress. "Really nice seeing you again, Finn. We'll catch up later," she promises as she turns her back on him, and he doesn't have to be a genius to understand that she's probably lying.

They never were particularly close, and he supposes it's pretty natural that she's being protective of her friends. He can't blame her, considering his history with Rachel…and Quinn. Still, that's all in the past now. Well, yeah, obviously it is. They're getting married—to each other. That's, like, really huge.

Finn slips back into the Lake Room, and tries to politely shimmy past the people at the end of his row. A woman shakes her head at him in disapproval when he accidentally stumbles over her feet, and he whispers his apology with a sheepish smile. He doesn't recognize her, so he doesn't know if she's a friend of Rachel or of Quinn, or maybe both of them together. He doesn't really recognize a lot of people here—and there are a lot. Well, more than he expected, anyway. It's really strange seeing a little snippet of the life that Rachel has in New York. The life he might have been a part of if he'd been smarter, or at least more patient.

He feels guilty the moment he thinks it, especially when he sits down next to his wife and she immediately tucks her arm into his, and gifts him with her beautiful smile that goes all the way to her sparkling, blue eyes. He's really lucky to have her, he knows. He's not especially proud of how their relationship started—with him still feeling bad about his broken engagement and seeking comfort in the arms of a girl who reminded him of Rachel—but she's been really good for him. Harmony doesn't need him to be her everything, and she certainly doesn't want to be his. She just wants someone to love her, and hold her hand when she has a bad day, and make her laugh, and remind her how to have fun, and Finn is really good at all of those things these days. He should probably thank Rachel for teaching him what _not_ to do in a relationship.

He glances around the room, noticing the decorations and the flowers, though he's not generally interested in those kind of things. There are a lot of green ribbons tied around everything, and Finn chuckles quietly when the sudden memory hits him of Rachel's exact instructions on the kind of corsage to get Quinn for Junior Prom, right down to the ribbon—_green to match her eyes. _Just how oblivious was he in high school?

Pretty fucking oblivious, apparently.

It's kind of obvious now, that his ex-girlfriends were more concerned with one another than with him for at least half of the time that he spent dating either of them. He's sort of been compiling a secret list since he'd seen them in Columbus, trying to figure out if Quinn was telling him the truth about Rachel's feelings for him—for both of them—not changing until after he was out of Rachel's life for good. The list has gotten pretty long, and now he needs to add the prom thing, too. He's actually been thinking about giving it to Quinn as a wedding gift, because she was wrong. High school Rachel hadn't been all about Finn at all. Quinn had always been right there beside him.

Hell, if he's being completely honest, Quinn is the reason that he and Rachel never got married, or at least, the reason that they didn't leave for New York together as husband and wife. It's actually written as number one on his evidence list—_Rachel postponed our wedding to wait for Quinn. _

Quinn's accident had stopped them long enough for Rachel to really think about the future, and then New York City had stepped in to steal her away from him completely, just like he'd always known it would. Finn sighs and closes his eyes as he waits for the ceremony to begin, and he can't help thinking about how his own almost-wedding to Rachel had ended...

_xox_

Finn spent the first half of what should have been his wedding night in the hospital, alternating between staring at the floor and staring at Rachel. He spent the second half of it alone in his bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering why Rachel wouldn't let him hold her that way that he needed to—the way he was sure that _she_ needed him to.

He felt awful about Quinn—scared and worried and just sick. It wasn't fair. She didn't deserve to be in the hospital, all broken up like that. She should have been at his and Rachel's wedding. She should have been going back to school on Monday in her cheerio's uniform, and he and Rachel should have been going back as husband and wife.

Okay, so apparently all of their parents had been lying about supporting them, and they'd have probably had to stay at the _Super 8_ for a little while, but they'd have figured something out. Finn knew that getting their life started wouldn't be easy. He'd kind of been counting on their parents helping them out, but he wasn't going to let them stop him from marrying Rachel. He'd get a second job, maybe waiting tables again, and Rachel could…well, she could find something. He was sure she must have skills besides music and stuff. They'd make it work. He closed his eyes and imagined being in New York City with her, sitting in the front row of her show, and bragging to the people next to him that his wife was the star. Rachel would wait for him in her dressing room, and he'd kiss her and walk her out through the crowd with his arm wrapped around her to keep her safe.

He tried not to think about Quinn, or the fact that she hadn't been kept safe while she was driving to his wedding, but once his mind went there, he couldn't get it back to happier thoughts. Finn wasn't great with the whole praying thing, and he figured that just asking God to let Quinn be okay probably wasn't the right way to do it, but he didn't care. He asked anyway, and he kept asking until he finally drifted into a fitful sleep.

He woke up later than he intended the next morning, and it was already nine-thirty by the time he stumbled to the kitchen. Kurt sat at the table, already dressed and presentable, although his eyes were red and rimmed with dark circles. He looked up from his cup of coffee when Finn reached for a box of cereal.

"How can you even bare to eat those?" he asked disdainfully.

Finn glanced down at the _Lucky Charms_ and shrugged, "They're good." He dug out a bowl and the milk, and set them on the table.

"I can't even think about food this morning," Kurt complained. "I've been absolutely sick over Quinn."

"Yeah, me, too," Finn agreed, pouring his cereal and digging in to the sugary sweetness. Kurt was looking at him like there was something on his face, and he self-consciously wiped his mouth. "What?" he mumbled around a mouthful of food.

Kurt shook his head, and went back to staring at his coffee. "I…I just can't believe this is happening," he muttered. "Yesterday at this time, we were all happy and smiling, getting ready to win Regionals, and now Quinn is…she's just laying there in the hospital."

Finn swallowed heavily and pushed his bowl away, suddenly not feeling hungry anymore. "Hey, man, she's…she's gonna be okay. I mean, the doctor said she was stable, and that's good, right? She'll probably be awake and bossing the nurses around in no time."

Kurt dropped his head into his hand and huffed out a shaky breath, "I just can't stop thinking about what I said to her a few days ago…about her life not being as hard as David's. I was such a…such a jerk to her."

"Wow. Yeah, that was kind of a crappy thing to say," Finn agreed, "I mean, dude, her parents kicked her out when she was pregnant." Kurt choked back a sob, and Finn glanced around the kitchen uncomfortably. He really didn't know what he was supposed to do when another guy started crying, so he just reached across the table and gave an awkward pat to Kurt's shoulder. "She'll be okay," he repeated, just as desperate as Kurt to believe it.

Kurt wiped his eyes and nodded. "Dad and Carol are at church. I'm going to pick up Blaine and head to the hospital. Do you want to ride with us?"

"Um…I'll probably drive Rachel. She'll want to be there, too, I think." He really needed to call her.

Kurt's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Rachel's already at the hospital, Finn. She called over an hour ago."

Finn felt is chest get a little tight, and he rubbed at it absently. "Oh. Well, uh...I guess we got our signals crossed or something," he muttered. Actually, they hadn't really spoken at all last night. He'd wanted to, but Rachel had told him that she was exhausted, and she'd see him in the morning. "Did she say how Quinn's doing?"

Kurt shrugged, "She was taken off the ventilator, but otherwise, her condition is the same. Quinn's mother was only just allowed back in to see her before Rachel called, so she didn't know much yet."

"Sucks," Finn whispered as he pushed a hand through his hair, and Kurt nodded in agreement. "I think I will catch a ride with you, if that's okay." Maybe once they all saw Quinn and knew she was going to be okay, he could get Rachel to drive him home and they could talk about yesterday and how messed up it was.

Thirty minutes later, after Finn had taken a quick shower and brushed his teeth, they finally walked into the hospital. Mercedes and Sam were already there, but Finn only really noticed Rachel, and he frowned at the sight of her. She looked worse than that time she came to school in her robe and slippers, and that was, like, really bad. She was sitting by herself, and he immediately lumbered over to her and sank into the open chair to her right. "Hey," he murmured, reaching for her hand. Rachel allowed him to take it, but she didn't twine her fingers with his, or even apply any pressure. Her hand was just kind of…there.

"How's Quinn?" Kurt asked, taking the seat on Rachel's other side.

Rachel's eyes watered, and she bit into her lip. "She woke up about an hour ago," she told them. "She's…her mom said she's in a lot of pain, but," Rachel trailed off, wiping at her eyes.

"She's breathing on her own," Mercedes added when it became clear that Rachel wasn't going to say anymore, "and she's got nervous responses and some feeling in her legs, so that's good. The doctor thinks she'll be able to walk once all the swelling goes down and her left leg heals."

"She's really lucky," Sam added quietly. Finn nodded in agreement, thinking briefly of Artie and how he hadn't been as lucky, but mostly feeling grateful that Quinn wouldn't have to be stuck in a wheelchair forever.

He squeezed Rachel's hand and looked over at her with a hopeful grin. "That's good, right? I mean, Quinn'll get better."

"Of course, she will," Mercedes insisted. Rachel wiped the tears away from her cheeks again, sniffled, and managed to nod so slightly that Finn barely noticed.

He didn't quite get why Rachel was still so sad. Yeah, they all kind of were because Quinn got hurt, and maybe he wasn't always the smartest guy, but Quinn could have been so much worse off. He didn't know for sure, but it sounded like they kept getting good news, all things considered. Quinn was alive, she was breathing, she was awake, and she could feel her legs. Good things, right?

"So, when do we get to see her?" he asked. Rachel's hand tightened in his, but it wasn't the good kind of tight—more like that tense, reflex thing she did whenever she was really upset, and her body got all stiff beside him, too.

"She's only allowed two visitors an hour, for, like, ten minutes at a time, so we're all just waiting our turns," Sam explained.

Finn nodded, then turned to Rachel and lowered his voice, "Did you go yet?"

She sighed raggedly and shook her head, "Her mother went up first, and then…well, I thought…we thought Quinn might like to…to see Santana and Brittany next."

"Oh, yeah, I guess that makes sense." He glanced around the waiting area. "Where's everybody else?" he wondered out loud.

"It seemed kind of pointless for all of us to be sitting around and waiting when Quinn can only have a few visitors every hour," Mercedes explained.

"So we're doing shifts," Sam added.

"Noah is coming this afternoon. With Shelby," Rachel told him quietly.

Finn frowned, "Why's your mom coming?"

"You can't be serious," Kurt hissed softly.

"Oh," he muttered stupidly, feeling his face heat in embarrassment. He kind of forgot about Beth, but to be fair, it's not like Quinn really talked about her all that much.

"Noah thinks that…that seeing her daughter will be good for Quinn. Help her…help her get better faster."

"The healing power of love," Blaine agreed with a smile as he leaned closer to Kurt and hugged his side.

Finn studied Rachel's drawn face, her quivering lip and red, watery eyes. He let go of her hand, only so he could wrap his arm around her shoulder and tug her into his side. He wished that she would relax a little and maybe snuggle into him, but she only leaned against him woodenly with tense shoulders and a distant expression.

He really hated hospitals. They were too quiet and smelled like medicine, and, like, no one ever seemed to smile. Well, he guessed most people didn't have a reason to smile when they were here, unless they were in the maternity ward—because who isn't happy around babies? Except, he kind of remembered that Quinn hadn't been very happy there two years ago, so he supposed sometimes even babies didn't mean happy, smiling people either.

He wondered how long they'd have to stay—like, if they got to see Quinn next, maybe he and Rachel could go somewhere and talk, or something. The whole wedding thing was still kind of up in the air, and they needed to figure out what they were going to do. Finn could admit that they probably hadn't been as prepared for their future as they should have been, but Rachel was really good at all that planning stuff, so he just needed to let her make one of those lists that she was so fond of, and then actually pay attention to it.

Rachel tensed up even more beside him, and Finn shook himself out of his thoughts and noticed that Santana and Brittany had come back. Brittany's eyes were puffy, and Santana's jaw was clenched, and she kind of looked like she'd been crying, too, but she honestly looked more pissed off than sad, which was weird.

Mercedes immediately asked how Quinn was doing, and Santana snapped, "She got hit by a fucking truck. How do you think she's doing?" Brittany slipped an arm around Santana's waist and whispered something in her ear that Finn couldn't make out, but Santana's shoulders slumped, and she muttered, "Sorry. I'm just...she looks...really bad...all bruised and...there's this really nasty gash across her forehead," Santana lifted her hand and rubbed her fingers across her own forehead as she shook her head, "and there's all these wires and tubes sticking out of her," Santana shuddered.

"She's, like, a Borg, or something," Brittany mused. Finn didn't get it, but Sam nodded like it made perfect sense.

"She's kind of doped up for the pain, so she doesn't remember much about the accident right now, which is probably a good thing." Finn felt Santana's dark gaze fall on him, or maybe it was actually on Rachel—he couldn't really tell for sure. "The nurse up there was being a total Nazi about hospital policy, but I talked to my father and he pulled some strings, so Quinn can have one more visitor right now for about ten minutes, but then we have to wait another hour before anyone else can go in."

Rachel's head bowed, and Finn felt a slight shudder travel through her. "I...I think Mercedes should go next," she said softly, and Finn frowned. Waiting around another hour was going to suck.

"I can wait," Mercedes told them. "You've been here the longest, Rachel. You should go next."

Rachel looked at Finn with wide, searching eyes. He didn't really get why, but he offered her an encouraging smile anyway. He knew she was worried about Quinn, and that maybe she even felt responsible somehow, even though she totally wasn't. She'd needed to see Quinn so she could feel better about the whole thing. "Go ahead. I'll be here waiting." She took a deep breath and nodded, and she leaned in to kiss his cheek. He couldn't help grinning a little. It had only been a day, but he'd already missed her kisses.

He watched Rachel walk away with a determined stride while he half-listened as Santana started telling them about Quinn's leg being all hung up in the air, and how even her toes were black and blue. It sucked, because he knew that Quinn had this thing about colors clashing—man she'd gone on for hours sometimes about Rachel's wardrobe back when she wore all the plaid and argyle—and Quinn had insisted that black and blue didn't go together, like, at all. She'd kind of had a hissy-fit back when they were picking costumes for the showcase sophomore year because of the blue shirts and black ties. She'd claimed they made her nauseous, but then again, she'd had that morning sickness thing going on at the time, too.

She'd probably be pissed about the bruising, and the casts, but mostly the stitches. She'd been crazy obsessed with her appearance, but maybe not so much anymore. The pink hair had been just...wow, yeah. She would still be beautiful, though—she always had been. He still had that picture of her from before she'd transferred to McKinley, even though he'd kind of shoved it into one of his video game cases when he'd gotten back together with Rachel. She always had this thing about Quinn, and he knew she wouldn't understand. Finn still looked at that picture once in a while, just to remind himself that Quinn was a lot deeper than people gave her credit for. He'd been lucky enough to catch a glimpse of the real Quinn once in awhile, even if she was really good at keeping people from getting too close. Maybe he wasn't in love with her anymore, but he figured he'd always kind of love her, just a little bit. He wouldn't tell that to Rachel, though.

Santana and Brittany had just left when Rachel came back to the waiting area. Finn glanced at his watch and was surprised to see that twenty minutes had passed since she went to see Quinn. She looked like she'd been crying, so he stood up and opened his arms, hoping she'd let him hold her, and he felt kind of good when she did. "Did you get to talk to her?"

Rachel sniffled, "She was sleeping when I went in. She...she woke up for maybe a minute, but," she didn't finish her thought, but just kind of shrugged helplessly. She slipped out of Finn's arms and wiped her eyes, turning to look at Mercedes and Sam. "The nurse said she can have visitors again at eleven-thirty."

"Thanks, Rachel. We'll wait," she promised, smiling over at Sam, who reached out and took hold of her hand.

Rachel nodded, and glanced back at Kurt and Blaine. "Are you guys going to stay, too?"

Blaine looked to Kurt, who nodded. "I'd like to see her...make sure she knows that I'll be there for her if she needs me." Finn knew that Kurt was feeling pretty bad about what he said to her before her accident, especially after what happened with Karofsky. The whole week had pretty much sucked, except for winning Regionals, because that was awesome.

"You'll call me if...if anything changes?" Rachel verified. Kurt and Mercedes both promised they would, and Rachel nodded and brushed back her bangs with a trembling hand. Actually, she looked pretty shaky all around, and kind of pale, so Finn put a steadying hand under her elbow.

"Hey, have you eaten anything today?" he asked in concern.

"No...I...I haven't really had much of an appetite."

"You should eat something anyway. Come on, I'll buy you lunch."

Rachel frowned up at him, her brows furrowed, "Don't you want to stay and see Quinn?"

"I can see her tomorrow. Let me take care of you," he coaxed. That's what husbands were supposed to do, right? Take care of their wives. He could do that—show their parents that he'd be a good husband to Rachel.

She looked ready to refuse for a moment, but she finally seemed to give in to her own exhaustion and nodded in agreement. He thought about taking her down to the hospital cafeteria, but he figured she'd complain about the food, so instead he walked her outside to her car, taking the keys from her so he could drive. He asked where she wanted to go, and she sighed heavily, closed her eyes and tipped her head back against the headrest.

"Could you just drive me home, please?"

Finn scrubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw before he turned the key and put the car into motion. They drove in silence, mostly because Rachel looked really tired and sad, and he didn't know what to say. He pulled into the Berry driveway, and Rachel opened the door and got out before he even had a chance to turn off the engine. He fumbled with his own door handle and jumped out after her.

"Um, Rachel?"

"You can just take my car home," she told him as she reached her front door. "I'm sure dad and daddy won't mind dropping by to pick it up later."

Finn frowned in confusion, "Can't I come in?"

Rachel sighed and slumped against the door. "My dads are both home, Finn, and after everything that's happened in the last twenty-four hours, I'm just not sure any of us are in the right mind for pleasantries today."

"Huh? I don't care about that, Rachel. I just... I just want to spend some time with you." He stepped closer and reached out to take her hand in his. "Can't we just, like, sit and talk for awhile, or something?"

Rachel closed her eyes and sighed again before she finally nodded. "Okay, just for a little while, though," she told him. Instead of going inside, she pulled him around the side of the house and into the backyard. There was a wooden swing situated behind a little garden, and Rachel led him over to it and sat down. Finn sat beside her and slung his arm across the back of the swing, relieved when Rachel took the silent invitation to curl into his side. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I don't mean to be so...so distant. I just really don't know what I'm doing right now."

"It's okay," he assured her, moving his arm to her shoulder and pulling her closer. "This whole thing is really messed up."

"I'm just so worried about Quinn. I can't believe any of this is happening."

"Yeah, me too," he agreed, "but Quinn will be okay. I mean, she's, like, the strongest girl I know. Um, except for you, of course," he added nervously.

"I'm not even half as strong as she is," Rachel admitted quietly. He didn't know if he was supposed to agree with her or not—it kind of seemed like one of those arguments he wouldn't win either way, so he just stayed quiet. They sat in silence for a good long while, gently swinging back and forth, before Finn started to get a little antsy.

"So, um…I was thinking, we should probably pick another date for the wedding, so we can make the arrangements and everything."

Beside him, Rachel went rigid. "What?"

"I mean…not, like, for next week, or anything," he rushed to clarify. "I know you want Quinn to be there, but I was thinking we could do it after Nationals, like we first planned. Maybe even get, like, some decorations and stuff this time. Kurt said you wanted a nice ceremony, and we could do something like that, and Quinn will probably be okay by then."

Rachel slid away from, carefully removing his arm from her shoulder. "Finn, this really isn't the time to discuss the…the wedding," she said testily, her eyes flashing annoyance.

"Oh…yeah…not with the details," he agreed, "but just the day. I was thinking May 26th," he offered with a grin.

She stared him blankly for a long time, and his smile started to slip. She drew in a breath and shook her head, "No. No…I don't…I think we need to wait, Finn."

He swallowed down his disappointment, "Oh, like…after graduation," he reasoned. Yeah, maybe that would be better if they didn't have to worry about school at all anymore. They could totally just focus on being married. "June?"

"No. I mean…I think we need to wait until…until we're really ready," Rachel told him hesitantly, her eyes glistening with tears.

Finn's insides felt really tight and heavy, kind of like when he got tackled by a defensive back and planted into the grass. "I thought we _were _ready. Is this about what our parents said?" he asked desperately, "Because they're wrong."

"No, they aren't. Finn," she argued. "We…we've been rushing into all of this without…without thinking…and… It's just been too much...and now with…with Quinn."

"But isn't that, like, more reason to get married now? I mean, life is too short, right? That's what you said," he reminded her heatedly. Just a few days ago, Rachel had wanted them to get married right away because they didn't know how much time they might have together, "and what happened to Quinn is just more proof of that."

Rachel hugged her arms around her torso as her tears trickled over her cheeks. "Yes…but it's also proof that one…impulsive, reckless decision can have catastrophic results." Finn flinched at the words reckless, and cata...catos...that word he just knew meant _bad_, and he curled his fingers around the edge of the seat while Rachel kept talking.

"Quinn was…she had _plans_. She was enjoying her last few months of high school, and she was going to take the cheerios back to Nationals, and…and have fun with all of us in glee, and go to Yale in the fall. And now, because of one thoughtless moment, all of those plans are just…they're just gone, Finn," Rachel cried, jerkily swiping at her tears. "And now she has to make new plans that involve a wheelchair and physical therapy…and…and maybe never being able to walk without a limp, or sing without…without losing her breath. She has to deal with all of that, Finn—all of these really hard, life-altering things that no one our age should have to deal with."

She dropped her face into her hands and shook her head hopelessly, wiping at her cheeks and dragging in a deep breath before she lifted her head to meet Finn's eyes again. "And then there's us…and our…our blind eagerness to jump head first into all of these adult responsibilities that we're not prepared for in the least. We just…we just can't, Finn," she vowed.

Finn listened to everything, all the while gripping the wood of the seat tighter as he tried to follow Rachel's logic, but all he really understood was, "Wait. You…are you saying you don't want to marry me?"

"I'm saying that getting married right now would be a mistake."

"A mistake?" he growled, jumping up from the swing and sending it swaying violently as he paced away. "That's just great, Rachel. You said _yes_," he reminded her with a shout, "and now you're just changing your mind."

"No, Finn," she insisted, dragging her feet into the dirt to stop the swing's motion. "I'm not changing my mind, okay?" She stood up and approached him cautiously, tentatively reaching for his hand. "I'm not saying that I don't ever want to marry you. I just think that we need to slow down, and…and figure out what we're doing first."

"I don't need to slow down," he insisted angrily, flinging her hand away and grasping her shoulders. "I know what I want. I want to be your husband, Rachel," he told her brokenly, a little horrified to realize that he had tears in his eyes. "I thought you wanted that, too."

"I do. I do want that," she assured him. "When I think about my future, I still see you right there with me. I just…I can't see _you..._without me," she admitted.

"What does that even mean?" he cried, flinging up his hands in confusion.

"It means that I know what _I_ want, Finn. I want New York, and Broadway, and music, and…and you," she explained. "The only thing that I know you want is _me_, and that isn't enough. I don't want you to end up resenting me because you don't have something of your own in New York."

He shook his head in denial. "I won't do that."

"Maybe you won't," Rachel conceded with a sad smile, "but Finn, our parents aren't wrong. We…we haven't even talked about where we're going to live, or how we're going to support ourselves. As much as I wish we could, we can't live on love alone. And I _do_ love you, Finn...enough that I want us to have the best possible start to our life together. If that means waiting a few years to get married until we're settled in New York, and earning money of our own, and you've found something that you love as much as I love singing, then that's what we need to do."

Finn looked into her eyes and saw the same conviction that he saw whenever she talked about her talent, or Broadway. He knew he wasn't going to be able to change her mind this time—not even if he serenaded her with the perfect song. "So…that's it, then?" he questioned in defeat. "We're not getting married."

"Yet," she stressed, pressing her trembling palms against his chest. "I'm still wearing your ring, Finn. That is, if you…if you still want me," she tested hopefully.

"Of course, I want you." Rachel was the only thing in his life that he was sure of. "I guess…I can deal with a long engagement," he reluctantly admitted. He'd rather have to wait to marry her than not marry her at all. He forced a smile and brushed the backs of his fingers across her cheek, drying the tears that still lingered there. "I mean, who knows? Maybe we'll have such an awesome life in New York next year, we'll be ready to make it official, right?"

Rachel managed to return his smile as she cupped his hand and pressed a grateful kiss into his palm. "Maybe."

_xox_

Finn opens his eyes and blinks away the memory of that long ago _maybe_—and how, a little more than a year later, it turned into _never_ as he and Rachel stood yelling at one another about broken dates, late bills, the guy in Rachel's drama class that she spent more of her time with than Finn, and the woman that Finn worked with who'd thought that he was cute and funny and charming. Nothing had been the way it was in Lima, and Finn did end up resenting Rachel and how enthusiastically she'd embraced her new life with her new, artsy friends. He'd felt excluded and unimportant and kind of dumb, and he knows that it would have been so much worse if they'd already been married. He would have been stuck.

He will never regret his relationship with Rachel, but they were always meant to say goodbye.

"Are you okay, Finny Bear?"

He glances over to his wife and smiles, taking her hand and entwining their fingers together. "I'm fine, babe. Just getting impatient for this thing to start so we can get to the party part."

It's the absolute truth. Finn is really looking forward to catching up with everybody. He and Harmony spent the morning rushing around from the plane to the hotel, and they actually thought they'd be late for the wedding, but apparently it worked out in their favor since the whole shebang is running late. He was only able to see Kurt for, like, a minute before his brother was rushing off, all red-faced and frantic and mumbling about insane brides and New York City traffic.

Honestly, Finn maybe had a momentary freak out over the delay, too, because it hadn't ended particularly well the last time a wedding they were all at got held up—or actually, maybe it's ending just the way it was always supposed to. Either way, seeing Santana here and as bitchy as ever makes him feel a lot better, and that feeling intensifies when Kurt finally struts down the aisle with a wide grin to take his place at the altar, followed by Santana looking smug. The music changes over to the bridal march, and everybody in the room stands up and turns to look at the bride. Well, one of them, anyway.

His throat gets really tight, and starts to burn a little, because Rachel Berry is absolutely beautiful in her wedding dress. She had been the first time, too, but he can admit that it was nothing close to how she looks now. She's radiating happiness in a way he's never seen, and his ego kind of hates him for admitting it. She's on Leroy's arm, and he's smiling proudly, and this...this is what she's always deserved and what he hadn't been able to give her. Her gaze meets his for a second, and flashes with affection—whether it's for what they used to share, or the idea that he's giving her his blessing, he doesn't know—but it's gone almost as quickly as it came. Rachel keeps walking until she's standing beside Kurt, and then Leroy kisses her cheek, and Rachel turns with bright eyes to wait for Quinn.

She doesn't have to wait long, because Quinn Fabray floats down the aisle right after her, looking gorgeous and blissful and completely in love. Hiram Berry proudly escorts her, even though he's not giving her away at all, but is actually getting another daughter out of the deal. Unlike Rachel, Quinn doesn't even notice Finn standing there. Her eyes don't stray for one single second from the woman she's about to marry—and okay, that's still kind of a weird concept for him to grasp. He can still remember the girl who dragged him to Christ Crusaders, and obsessed over doing all those typical girl things, like dating the quarterback and winning prom queen and marrying her high school sweetheart. Of course, Rachel had kind of been the same, only she'd been obsessing over a leading man to follow her to Broadway. Turns out that Finn hadn't fit the role for either one of them.

Hiram stops Quinn in front of the altar and lifts her hand from the crook of his arm, brushing a gallant kiss across the back of it before he places it into Rachel's outstretched hand. Finn realizes that Rachel's been offering that hand to Quinn since they were sixteen, just waiting for Quinn to finally accept it, and now here they are. They look pretty perfect, standing there with hands and eyes and hearts connected, and smiling with their whole faces.

When he sits back down, his own hand is still tangled up with Harmony's, and he leans back in his seat and grins. Yeah, it's weird watching his ex-girlfriend and his ex-fiancée marry each other, but it makes an odd kind of sense to him. He figures life has a way of working out exactly the way it's supposed to.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Okay, so writing Finn has been kind of fun for me, with the mix of dumb, nice, and thoughtlessly selfish. I have one more part to post after this, the actual ceremony, which is filled with sap and will probably cause cavities upon reading.

Again, than you all for the feedback. Comments are much appreciated.


	4. Begin the Dream Again

__**Part Four: Begin the Dream Again**__

* * *

><p>Her wedding is nothing like what she had planned when she was a little girl. For one thing, she'd always pictured a huge church wedding, as opposed to a more intimate (if you can call one hundred and forty-two guests<em> intimate<em>) ceremony in Central Park. She expected it to be performed by her pastor, not a non-denominational minister and a rabbi. Her daddy was supposed to give her away, not the man she will be lucky enough to call her father-in-law. Most notably, however, she had always pictured herself marrying a tall, handsome, soft-spoken man, not a short, gorgeous woman with a huge voice.

Quinn Fabray couldn't be happier that her plans have gone so completely awry.

Of course, she hasn't always been able to say that—definitely not when she was sixteen and pregnant, losing the security of her home and the love of her father. Not at seventeen, losing prom queen to Kurt Hummel, and getting dumped by her boyfriend at a funeral. Or at eighteen, losing her mind before getting her life back on track, only to end up in a car accident for her trouble. And not even at nineteen, losing all of her pretenses, and finally accepting that she was in unrequited love with her (mostly) straight, more-than-kind-of friend.

Falling in love with Rachel Berry was most definitely not part of her plan, but Quinn can't imagine her life having turned out any other way.

They've been together romantically for almost exactly four years. Their very first kiss was in June, right here in Central Park, on a bench at the __Alice In Wonderland__ statue. It's Quinn's favorite spot in the park, made more so by the memory of that perfect moment. Rachel had been adorably nervous, rambling about attending her first Tony Awards later in the month, and fretting that she didn't have a date, but she hadn't wanted anyone else to go with her because Quinn was her person. At first, Quinn had thought that Rachel was merely asking her to the award ceremony, but really, she'd been asking so much more. Quinn will never forget that kiss—soft and hesitant under the warm, afternoon sun, on a day very much like today.

It's a perfect day to get married. The summer is still young enough that even New York City hasn't yet managed to bog it down with stifling humidity, hanging thick between the unforgiving insulation of endless concrete. A cooling breeze is circling through the park and making gentle ripples on the lake, and the beauty of this day can't be tainted—not even by the forty-five minutes that she spent stuck in traffic with Santana.

If anything, that little bump in the road makes today all the more special to her. What has her relationship with Rachel been, if not filled with unexpected detours? It's the journey that's bound them together, after all. Every stumble and misstep along the way had her colliding head on with Rachel Berry, until both of their paths had been altered, and they were walking the same one together, side by side, and hand in hand.

She glances down at her left hand as she stands in front of the doors to the Lake Room. The diamond engagement ring winks up at her, and she remembers the joy that she felt when Rachel slid it onto her finger. She feels giddy now, knowing that in a few minutes, a wedding ring will be joining it—joining her with Rachel, permanently and officially. She makes a silent vow to never take that ring off once it's in place. Her fingers tremble a little as she works the diamond down over her knuckle, and she carefully transfers it onto her right hand for safekeeping until she can return it back to its rightful position next to its mate.

Quinn's stomach flutters with excitement when Hiram takes her hand to lead her down the aisle. He smiles down at her, and asks, "Are you ready?"

"Since I was seventeen," she tells him honestly. She may have taken a few years to fully accept her feelings for Rachel, but she can't ever deny when they began. Somewhere between a slap in a bathroom at Junior Prom, and a hug in that same bathroom senior year, Quinn had fallen irrevocably in love with Rachel Berry.

The moment that she and Hiram step through the double doors, everything but Rachel fades away. Quinn's breath catches to the point where she actually has to remind herself to inhale and exhale, because she's never seen anything as beautiful as Rachel Berry dressed in white and waiting for _her_ with eyes full of love and devotion. Part of her wants to run down the aisle to meet her bride, but she forces herself to focus on the slow, measured steps that she'd practiced, and prays that she doesn't trip and make a fool of herself.

The sunlight is streaming in through the ceiling to floor windows, illuminating Rachel from behind. She looks like some kind of ethereal woodland fairy, standing beneath a canopy that is overflowing with white gardenias and wrapped in green ribbons. Quinn's smile widens as she considers the imagery, because Rachel really is her very own Tinkerbell, and her love makes Quinn believe that she can fly.

As she steps under the _chuppah_, Quinn gazes at Rachel and sees the amazing, talented woman that she loves with all of her heart, but she can also still see that fifteen-year old girl that had so endearingly held her hand out to Quinn in friendship on her very first day at William McKinley High School. Quinn had refused that hand—too many times—but today she takes it eagerly, tangling their fingers together with a wide smile when Hiram places her hand into Rachel's.

There was a time in her life when Quinn believed that she'd never have this—that she didn't even deserve it—not love, and certainly not Rachel. She's not a fool. She knows how lucky she is to have been given this gift, in so many ways.

That Rachel Berry loves her.

That she's standing here about to marry her best friend and the love of her life.

That she's standing at all.

That she's alive.

That she was late for another wedding, once upon a time.

And that Rachel always, always waits for her...

__xox__

The moment of impact wasn't memorable, mostly because Quinn was completely unaware when it happened. She didn't remember the truck, or the stop sign. She remembered driving, eyes still gritty and red from the unexpected and inexplicable tears that she'd cried as she'd changed into that awful, pink bridesmaid's dress. She remembered feeling tense and on edge as her foot pressed into the gas pedal. And she remembered the incessant buzzing of her phone, and instinctively knowing that it was Rachel Berry, even as she reached for it.

And then…nothing.

She'd woken up with a head full of fuzz and a persistent, throbbing ache across most of her body. Prying her eyes open had been a battle that she'd nearly lost, and it was only the intense, twisting fear that clawed at her belly and lungs that forced her to keep fighting the darkness. She was confused and disoriented, and her heart rate spiked into a panicked gallop, echoing in her ears with an electronic ping. She'd felt something tighten around her right hand, like a vice, and heard the whisper of her name.

When her eyes finally cracked opened, the world revealed to her was blurry and painfully white, and Quinn was terrified. She tried to turn her head, but she couldn't manage the motion, and the attempt caused her throat to constrict until she felt as if she was being strangled. Tears spilled down over her temples, and she tried to call out for help, but the only sound that came out was a wheezy cough that burned her lungs and sent a lance of pain into her left side.

"Quinnie, honey, it's okay. You're okay, sweetie," and she recognized her mother's quivering voice. She flexed her right hand, and felt the responding pressure of Judy Fabray's familiar touch. Quinn began to calm. Her eyelids fluttered, and she sucked in a painful breath as she tried to focus on the hazy halo of blonde hair hovering over her. "I'm so happy to see those beautiful eyes again," Judy whispered with a tremulous smile.

"M-mom," Quinn rasped, feeling the single word claw at her throat. "Hurts."

Judy pressed trembling fingers to her lips and nodded, "I...I know, sweetie, but you're going to be okay. The doctors are taking really good care of you."

"Wh' happen'd?"

"You...you were in a car accident, honey. Do you remember?"

Quinn closed her eyes and tried to call up the memory, but it just wasn't there. "N-no," she managed to croak, and then tried to swallow, but it felt like there was sand in her mouth. "Water?"

Her mother quietly gasped, and fumbled at Quinn's bedside until she came back with a glass and gently placed the straw between Quinn's lips. Quinn greedily sucked down three gulps before she let the straw fall away. She swallowed again, relieved that the action was a little easier.

"I'm going to call the nurse," her mother told her, and Quinn's eyes drifted closed again. Her awareness was spotty, but she managed to process words like __accident__, __doctors__ and __nurse __well enough to draw the natural conclusion that she was in the hospital. She didn't have the mental capability or the energy to think beyond that point.

Minutes bled into each other while nurses and doctors appeared and disappeared between the still revolving door of her consciousness. Snapshots of images appeared in flashes—a bright light shining in her eyes, the ripping of Velcro, warm fingers probing her neck, the icy press of metal against her chest, a dim tickle on her right foot, and a voice asking her to wiggle her toes. She tried to comply, but her legs felt heavy and useless.

"Good. That's very good, Quinn," a woman said, but the words sounded far away. Quinn didn't understand what it meant—what any of the poking and prodding meant. Her mind was foggy, and her sense of time and space slipped sideways, sliding back into nothingness.

The next thing that she became aware of was the rhythmic stroke of gentle fingers through her hair. She turned her head toward the sensation, but the intense pounding that answered the movement made her immediately wish that she hadn't. A whimper slipped out, and her mother's hand stilled.

"Oh, honey, I've been so scared," she confessed.

Quinn squinted, straining her dry, weary eyes as she took in her mother's drawn, exhausted face. Judy Fabray suddenly looked so much older than her forty-three years. "H-how bad?" she pushed out hoarsely, dreading the answer.

"Nothing that won't heal, sweetie," her mother promised with a tearful smile.

Quinn slowly rolled her head back on the pillow, hissing softly at the way it throbbed. She glanced down her body as best she could, and noticed her casted left arm secured to her side with a sling, and her leg wrapped in plaster and hanging suspended from a traction frame over the bed. She registered the dull pain in her arm, chest and side, but except for an unpleasant prickling in her left shin, her leg mostly just felt numb. Both of her legs felt a little numb, and she worriedly recalled being asked to wiggle her toes. She tried again, concentrating on curling them down and back. The toes on her right foot barely moved—but they did move—and Quinn felt a rush of relief at the sight.

"You...you had some swelling around your spinal cord," Judy told her when she noticed what her daughter was doing, "so your motor control is...is very limited right now, but Dr. Stewart believes that should improve over time. You…you'll need physical therapy, though, once your leg heals."

Quinn squeezed her eyes shut, caught between immense gratitude that she could move at all, and a shallow, selfish, despair that her triumphant return to the cheerios was over before it had the chance to begin. A memory of the last time she'd worn that uniform took shape, and her eyes flew open. "H-how long?" she asked, as the tempo of the heart monitor beside her bed increased.

"Oh, honey, I…we don't know yet. You'll have to wear the cast for at least six weeks, but it really depends on how well the bone mends."

"No…h-how long have I been here?" she demanded unsteadily.

"Since yesterday," Judy said, stroking her hair again. "You woke up much sooner than the doctor anticipated."

Yesterday? Quinn felt a wave of nausea roll through her. She'd missed Rachel's wedding. She didn't know why that mattered so much to her. She hadn't even wanted to go in the first place, but she'd…she'd promised…she'd told Rachel that she'd support her, even though Rachel was making the biggest mistake of her life. _Had _made, Quinn realized dizzily, and she hadn't been there to...to...

"Oh, Quinn. I know, sweetie. I know you're hurting and…and this is all really overwhelming right now, but, honey, you're alive…and you're going to get better," Judy whispered as she brushed away the moisture from Quinn's face.

Quinn hadn't even known that she was crying until her mother wiped her tears, but once she did, she also noticed how tight her chest felt under the effort of shallow, sniffling breaths, and the sharp, unrelenting pinch in her side. She dragged her right hand across her body toward the source of her physical discomfort, but her fingers caught on some kind of tube and sent a spear of pure agony cutting through her.

She cried out, and her mother gasped, wrapping her hand around Quinn's wrist and gently untangling it from its position. "Careful, honey. You…you have some broken ribs, too, and…and a punctured lung. They had to put in a chest tube." Judy leaned away and pressed the call button, while Quinn gritted her teeth and whimpered through the ebbing tide of pain.

Was there anything that wasn't wrong with her?

The nurse rushed in and asked what happened, and then peeled back Quinn's hospital gown to check on the chest tube. Quinn felt the nausea return full force when she saw the mess that used to be her body, and she turned her head away, gagging, which only caused the pain in her side to intensify. The nurse fiddled with Quinn's IV until the fire in her side dwindled into an uncomfortable burn, and she started to feel kind of floaty.

She welcomed the blissful oblivion that the morphine brought her—the forced vacation from her own troubled and confusing thoughts. She didn't want to think about the map of swollen bruises and bloody incisions crossing her torso, or the broken bones, or the fact that she could barely move her legs, or how long she'd have to be in the hospital, or...or Rachel's wedding, or the dangerous thoughts that had been circling in her mind while she'd been on her way there.

The pain medication flowing through her system made Quinn uncertain of how much time was passing. She thought that, at some point, her mother had taken her hand again, and said something about her friends waiting for something, but it was only when Santana and Brittany hesitantly stepped into her hospital room that Quinn really put any effort into staying conscious and focused. She did her best to smile, but she suspected it appeared as more of a grimace.

Santana's face was stony and tense, while Brittany looked sad and uncertain. She was holding a stuffed animal, and shifting her weight back and forth, like she didn't know whether to run forward and hug Quinn, or turn and run out the door. Quinn lifted her right hand off the bed, silently inviting the other blonde with a hoarse, "Hey, Brit."

Brittany smiled a little and glided forward, taking Quinn's hand firmly, and surprising her by leaning down and kissing her cheek. "I'm so happy you didn't die."

Quinn huffed out an amused breath, and then hissed as her ribs pinched again. Brittany's hand tightened around hers, and she frowned in concern, but Quinn forced a crooked smile and said, "Me, too."

"If you ever fucking scare us like that again," Santana threatened heatedly, but the tears were already falling, and her face crumbled. Brittany dropped the stuffed animal onto the bed and held out her hand to Santana. She came flying to the bedside, curving into Brittany's side and curling her hand over Quinn and Brittany's joined ones. "Y-you…s-suck," she wailed brokenly. Brittany pulled Santana tight, and allowed her girlfriend to sob on her shoulder. Glancing back at Quinn, the blonde grinned and rolled her eyes.

Quinn smiled, grateful for the temporary distraction from her problems, and glad to have her friends here with her. "Love you, too, Santana," she rasped.

Santana shuddered, sniffled several more times, and then lifted her hand to wipe angrily at her face. "God, I'm probably more of a mess than you are, right now," she complained.

Quinn closed her eyes. "Don't think so," she whispered.

Santana shrugged, "You look pretty damn good to me, Q. I mean, you're breathing." She seemed to be aiming for blithe and unaffected, but her eyes raked over every broken inch of Quinn with such glittering intensity that she couldn't disguise her genuine concern.

Quinn hummed in agreement, "More or less."

An awkward silence filled the room until Brittany picked up the stuffed mouse again. "We brought you a little friend," she walked it along the mattress until it was tucked under Quinn's hand, "to keep you company while you're stuck here."

Quinn ran her fingers over the soft toy, and lightly hugged it to her side. "S'cute. Thank you."

"So, your mom said you're all drugged up, but you seem pretty lucid to me," Santana commented.

Brittany rolled her eyes, "well, obviously...Lucy's, like, her real name."

The comment struck Quinn as funny, and she laughed for the first time since waking up. Her ribs immediately punished her for her carelessness, and her laughter transformed into groans and gasps. "Not enough drugs, apparently," she bit out between gritted teeth.

"Shit," Santana hissed with wide, worried eyes. "Do you need a doctor, or something?"

Quinn shook her head, keeping the rest of her body very still, and slowly let the tension ease out of her muscles. "Only hurts when I laugh," she lied.

Santana nodded, "Well, I guess it's a good thing you generally have, like, no sense of humor."

"We'll tell everyone else to be really boring, so they don't hurt you," Brittany promised solemnly. "It should be really easy for them."

Santana snickered. Quinn wouldn't let herself make the mistake of laughing again, and instead asked, "Everyone?"

"The hospital has really lame rules about how many visitors you can have at a time, otherwise the whole freaking glee club would be squeezed in here—singing out our feelings, or some shit. Britt and I can only stay another five minutes before we get kicked out," Santana regretfully told her. "I think your mom might be getting a little more leeway, but she went home for awhile to take a shower and change her clothes."

"She was kind of ripe," Brittany agreed with a crinkled up nose.

"S'okay. M'pretty tired, anyway," Quinn reluctantly admitted. She'd only been awake for maybe ten minutes at a time so far, and talking to Brittany and Santana was taking a lot out of her. Her eyelids were beginning to droop, even though she fought to keep them open.

"Do you...do you remember...any of it?" Santana asked her hesitantly.

Quinn shook her head, "Jus' driving," she mumbled as she let her eyes fall closed, but there was something niggling at her brain...something that she needed Santana to do for her. "Tell...tell Rachel...m'sorry. Missed...her wedding."

The room fell silent after that, and Quinn felt herself begin to drift, so she couldn't be sure if she was already dreaming when she heard Santana sigh and mutter, "You didn't."

The words chased Quinn into unconsciousness, filling her dreams with jumbled images of pink satin and shattered glass. She was driving down an endless highway, her car echoing with an unrelenting buzz. She felt desperate to find the source of that sound and make it stop, but when she looked away from the road in front of her, the car suddenly disappeared and she was standing back in the dress shop, staring at Rachel Berry in her wedding dress. Quinn opened her mouth to speak, to tell her again that she wasn't going to stand by and watch her ruin her life by marrying Finn Hudson, but instead, she heard herself say, _"I want to support you, Rachel, and Finn, and come to the wedding if it's not too late._¹_"_ Quinn felt her heart squeeze tight, and she tried to call back the words, but Rachel was smiling gratefully, and Finn was suddenly right there towering over her, taking Rachel's hand and leading her away. A sense of panic rushed over Quinn, and she took a step forward, reaching out to try to stop them, but pain tore through her leg from the sole of her foot to her thigh. When she looked down, she saw that the floor was covered in shards of glass, and blood was pooling under her bare feet.

"I'm so sorry, Quinn," Rachel's voice whispered through her dream. Quinn frantically looked around the empty shop, desperate to find Rachel. She couldn't move her legs, or call out for help, and her chest felt tight and heavy. She became aware of a weight in her right hand, and she glanced down to see her cellphone with the screen flashing the words _where are you?_

"This is all my fault," Rachel whimpered.

The images began to melt away into darkness, and Quinn gradually became aware of the warmth surrounding her hand where the cellphone had been. She had a strong sense that she wasn't alone, and turned her head to the right as she fought to lift her heavy eyelids.

"Rach," she breathed, half-thinking that she was still asleep, but the Rachel at her bedside looked nothing like the one in her dream.

Sad, worried, brown eyes met hers, and Rachel immediately lifted her hand away from Quinn's, and hastily wiped at her cheeks to remove the evidence of her tears. "I'm sorry," she murmured softly, "I didn't mean to wake you."

"S'okay," Quinn said sleepily. Her fingers twitched from the sudden absence of warmth, and she frowned. She wanted Rachel's hand back in hers, but she didn't know how to ask. Bits of her dream filtered back, and she remembered things that she'd rather not.

"How are you feeling?" Rachel asked, and then shook her head dismissively, closing her eyes in shame, "God, that's a ridiculous question. You don't...I'm sorry," she repeated, opening her eyes. "I'm _so _sorry, Quinn," she said again, and the anguish in her voice made it clear that she was referring to the accident.

Quinn's stomach twisted. "Can you...not?" she begged, squeezing her eyes shut so that she wouldn't have to see Rachel's sorrowful expression. "It happened. We can't...change that. I don't..." _Want your pity. _She sighed sadly,"No more apologies, 'kay?" She attempted a weak smile as she looked at Rachel again.

"Okay," Rachel echoed meekly.

Quinn's head was still thick with sleep, and she wasn't really feeling any pain, so she suspected that her morphine drip had released another dose not long before Rachel had woken her. She didn't know if she was more afraid of falling asleep on Rachel, or staying awake and saying something that she might regret.

"I just...I want you to know that I'll be here for you, Quinn. Whatever you need. Until you're...until you're back on your feet," Rachel promised with conviction.

Quinn's lips quirked into sad smile, "Could be awhile."

"However long it takes," Rachel insisted.

She ignored the weird flutter in her stomach, and hazily reminded herself that Rachel's pretty promises wouldn't really change anything. Quinn had a long, painful road ahead of her, and Rachel would be walking a different path. "Wish I'd...made it to your wedding," she mumbled.

She felt Rachel's fingers hesitantly brush over her hand until the tips settled over her pinky. "We...we didn't get married," Rachel told her quietly, and Quinn met her eyes with confusion. "It's...I wanted you to be there, Quinn," she explained. "So we waited, and then," she took a breath, nervously licking her lips, "you were right...a-about us being too young, and...well, we just need to wait."

"You...you waited. For me?" Quinn verified, a little concerned that she might have fallen back to sleep and was dreaming again.

Rachel nodded, "Of course. I'll always wait for you, Quinn," she said, as if Quinn should have known this already, and for a moment, she felt as if she were floating, only to crash back down when Rachel added, "When Finn and I eventually do get married, I want you to be standing right there beside me."

It hurt...worse than the punctured lung or any of her broken bones. Quinn closed her eyes and turned her head away, inching her hand away from Rachel's fingers on the mattress. "I'm really tired," she whispered harshly.

"O-oh," Rachel stuttered, "of course. I'll just...come back later?" Her voice crackled with uncertainty.

Quinn nodded tersely, keeping her eyes shut, and eventually, she heard the rustle of fabric as Rachel stood. She silently cursed herself, but she didn't open her eyes or call out to stop Rachel from leaving. She couldn't allow herself to care that much anymore. Where had it gotten her? Stuck in a hospital bed, with a broken body and a broken... No. God was obviously punishing her for all of her past indiscretions, and her confusing, sinful thoughts. She needed to take the damned hint. Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes, and fell down over her temples, so she lifted her right hand to brush them away.

She promised herself that this would be the very last time that Rachel Berry would ever make her cry.

_xox_

Quinn brushes away a few happy tears, grinning as she squeezes Rachel's hand. Rachel is battling her own tears, and it's ridiculous and perfectly them that they're both crying messes. Rachel's lips are curved into a soft, contented smile. This is the smile that Quinn loves best—the one that's real and genuine and just for her. The one that says _I love you _and _you make me so happy_.

Her eyes dance over Rachel, committing every detail of this moment to her memory. She glances away just long enough to pass her bouquet back to Santana, whose own eyes are glistening suspiciously. Kurt is unabashedly dabbing at a tear, and Quinn giggles, because her perfect, fantasy wedding also never included a flamboyantly gay best man and a bitchy lesbian maid of honor.

Rachel bites her lip in that way she does when she's trying not to laugh, and Quinn suspects that her thoughts are running down a similar path. They've known one another too long and too well, and Rachel Berry is an open book to her now. As much as they want this, and for as long as they've waited to get here, the fact that they're actually getting married is still surreal when they stop to think of where they started. Quinn remembers Rachel telling her once that she wanted Quinn to be standing beside her at her wedding, but, at the time, neither of them of could have imagined that it would happen this way.

__I love you__, Quinn mouths silently, and Rachel raises their joined hands and presses a kiss to Quinn's fingers before she repeats the silent vow. She turns to the minister and the rabbi, and nods to indicate that they're ready to begin.

Rachel had been adamant about including at least a few Jewish traditions in the ceremony, and Quinn had happily agreed. She'd also teased Rachel pretty mercilessly about the distinct lack of consideration to her religious beliefs to be found nine years ago in the Allen County Courthouse, and then proceeded to remind her what an awesome fiancée Quinn was compared to her previous one. Rachel never once tried to argue the point. In fact, she'd blissfully conceded, thanking Quinn thoroughly and repeatedly for being so good to her in the most pleasurable way imaginable. That particular memory is probably best left for the honeymoon, though.

The minister that Rachel found is non-denominational. She's a short, plump woman in her early thirties, and is one of the kindest people that Quinn has ever met. The rabbi, also a woman, has performed more than two hundred same-sex wedding ceremonies since the law passed in New York. They have a strange sort of chemistry, even though this is the first wedding that they've officiated together.

Rabbi Lerner smiles at both of them, and begins the ceremony by welcoming their family and friends. "Quinn and Rachel are happy that all of you have come here to share and celebrate this day with them. We welcome you and bless you. From two separate and rich traditions, Quinn and Rachel have come together to share the best of what each has to offer, to value their differences, and affirm that being together is far better than being apart from each other. And we bless this marriage under a __chuppah__, the Jewish symbol of the new home being consummated here.²"

The rabbi's words settle into Quinn's heart, and her eyes grow moist again. Rachel _is_ her home, and over the years, they have built their lives together, patiently fitting every colorful brick into an unbreakable foundation.

"We are gathered here today because love gathers us," Reverend Scaparotti adds, "Love has woven Quinn and Rachel together with a ribbon made strong with faith and understanding, and it is within the loving circle of family and friends that we join their souls together. We wish you strength in adversity, laughter in joy, compassion in grief, and trust in each other. We offer blessings over all beginnings you ever choose together, and all things lasting that you embrace. For your willingness to journey together on the path of love, we give thanks. And for this circle of family and friends with open hearts and loving spirits, we give thanks. Amen.³"

"Amen," Quinn whispers in heartfelt agreement.

"Into this holy union, Quinn and Rachel now come to be joined. If any of you can show just cause why they may not lawfully be married, speak now, or forever hold your peace."

Quinn sucks in a breath, anxiously waiting through the agonizing seconds of silence, unable to shake the lingering fear that someone will object and ruin her happiness. Rachel smiles reassuringly, giving her hand a quick squeeze, and the room remains quiet. Quinn's momentary tension falls away.

Rabbi Lerner holds up the _Kiddush_ cup. When Rachel first told Quinn about this particular Jewish wedding tradition, she'd instantly known that she wanted it included in their ceremony. "This cup of wine is symbolic of the cup of life," the rabbi explains, "as you share it, you share all that your future may bring. All the sweetness that life holds for you will be made sweeter because you drink from it together. Whatever drops of bitterness it may contain shall be less bitter because you share them."

Quinn's eyes lock onto Rachel as she accepts the cup from the rabbi and lifts it to her lips, loving the symbolism of the gesture. Rachel takes the cup from her with a trembling hand and drinks from it, sealing their promise to share all the good and bad that may come.

"Quinn has asked to say a few words before the vows," Reverend Scaparotti announces, and Quinn feels the butterflies in her stomach go crazy. Rachel's eyes widen in confusion, because she didn't have a clue that Quinn was planning to do this. They'd agreed on the traditional vows, but somehow, that didn't seem enough to Quinn. She's a writer by profession, and her first book has been riding on the bestseller list for nearly a year. Her second is in the final stages of editing, and is scheduled for release in the fall. She's good with words, although it comes as a surprise to many who used to know her, but only because they never really knew her at all. Rachel, though? She's always heard the words that Quinn has kept buried deep in her soul. Now she wants to share them with everyone that they both hold dear.

She takes both of Rachel's hands in hers, and smiles down at her bewildered bride. "Rachel, I know you're standing here right now, mentally working on a strongly worded rant because I didn't tell you I was going to do this," and there are some quiet chuckles throughout the room. Rachel bites back a smile, shaking her head in amused agreement, so Quinn grins as she continues, "but for once, I'm going to steal your spotlight. I promise you can have it back everyday after this for the rest of our lives," and there's more laughter now, Rachel's included, and happy tears sparkle in her eyes.

Quinn takes a breath and grows serious. "Before I met you, I was so...lost," she confesses, feeling tears gather in her own eyes as she remembers the lonely, angry girl that she used to be. "I thought that the only way I could ever be happy was by changing myself to fit into the slots that everyone else had carved out for me—perfect daughter, model student, prom queen. I cut away huge pieces of myself to fit into those molds, but I could never quite manage to make it work. It pinched and itched and made me miserable."

"Then I met you, and even though it took a long time for us to become friends," she grins mildly at the understatement, "and even longer to be standing here, pledging our lives and our hearts to one another...you changed me, Rachel. You helped me find those forgotten pieces of myself and glue them back together. You showed me how to close my eyes, and open my arms, and welcome life with all of its imperfections. I learned patience because you were patient with me. I learned compassion because you were compassionate. I learned forgiveness because you forgave me," her voice catches with emotion, and she has to pause to compose herself, smiling through her tears. Rachel is crying openly, as well, and Quinn squeezes her hands in affection. "I learned to hope because you have faith in me. I have strength because you hold me up, and I know love because you love me. And I'm standing here today, promising you that I will spend the rest of my life loving you."

Rachel sniffles, shaking her head in stunned wonderment, and her expression is worth a thousand of Quinn's words. "You know I'll have to serenade you at the reception now," Rachel jokes through her tears. She frees her right hand from Quinn's grasp, only to reach up and gently, reverently wipe Quinn's tears away before cupping her cheek. "You're the music in my heart, Quinn," she says simply, and it's everything.

"And now the formal vows," Reverend Scaparotti announces after a moment, and she turns to Quinn with a smile, "Will you, Lucy Quinn Fabray, take Rachel, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until parted by death?"

It's the easiest promise she will ever make. "I will."

"Will you, Rachel Barbra Berry, take Quinn, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until parted by death?"

Rachel doesn't hesitate, and her voice is strong and confident when she says, "I absolutely will." Quinn's heart swells with happiness.

"May I have the rings?" Rabbi Lerner asks, and Kurt fumbles in his pocket for a few seconds before triumphantly pulling them out and handing them to the rabbi. "These rings are a symbol of eternity. They are an outward sign of your eternal love and commitment. Quinn, you may place the ring on Rachel's finger."

She passes the ring to Quinn, and Quinn accepts it with shaking hands. She lifts up Rachel's left hand and slides the sparkling band of diamonds onto her finger. "With this ring, I join my life with yours," she vows.

Rabbi Lerner hands the second ring to Rachel, repeating her instruction, and Quinn watches the ring slip into place with a watery smile. "With this ring, I join my life with yours," Rachel promises softly, with that voice that Quinn so adores.

And then Reverend Scaparotti is speaking the words that Quinn has been waiting to hear. "As Quinn and Rachel have made promises to one another and sealed them by the giving of rings in the presence of God, and witnessed by family and friends, we declare them joined together in holy matrimony. Those whom God has joined, let no human being divide."

Quinn has to restrain herself from celebrating with a triumphant cry and kissing Rachel for all she's worth, because there is one more tradition to observe.

"We conclude the ceremony with the traditional breaking of the glass," Rabbi Lerner announces, holding up the glass before passing it to Kurt, who takes it with a smile and wraps it in a handkerchief. "The fragility of the glass represents the frailty of human relationships. The glass is broken to protect this marriage and keep it strong." Kurt ducks down to place the glass on the floor between them. "May your bond of love be as difficult to break as it would be to put together the shattered pieces of this glass." Quinn grins at her wife—_her wife!_—and Rachel grins back, and hand in hand, they each bring their right foot down onto the glass, shattering it inside the handkerchief.

"Mazel Tov!" Rabbi Lerner shouts, along with more than half of the guests. Somehow, Noah Puckerman's voice is the loudest of them all, and Quinn and Rachel both laugh joyfully, until Quinn pulls Rachel into her arms and kisses her soundly.

Quinn is distantly aware of the applause, and the cheers, and maybe a wolf-whistle or two, but she couldn't care less. She's kissing her _wife_ for the very first time, and it's better than any kiss they've ever shared because of what it signifies. Rachel Berry is her wife...no, that's not quite right. Quinn reluctantly slides her lips away from Rachel's and grins softly, "Hello, Mrs. Fabray."

Rachel blushes pink, smiling shyly, "I really, really love the way that sounds," she whispers.

"I really love _you_," Quinn tells her, brushing another kiss across those tempting lips.

Reverend Scaparotti formally introduces them as Mrs. Quinn and Rachel Fabray, and Rachel hums in delight at hearing her new name again. She kisses Quinn with relish, naughtily teasing her lips with the tip of her tongue before she pulls away with a satisfied smile.

Quinn groans lowly, "I don't suppose we could skip the reception and start the honeymoon right now?"

Rachel's laughter rings out through the room, and she squeezes Quinn's waist. "Are you kidding me? We have to go make everyone we know outrageously jealous with how incredibly happy we are. I mean, I just married _Quinn Fabray._ I think I've earned some bragging rights."

Quinn laughs, hugging Rachel to her and nodding her agreement. She can't wait to show off her wife. She gallantly holds out her hand to Rachel in invitation. "Mrs. Fabray," she says again, loving the way those words roll from her tongue. Rachel accepts her hand with a smile, and together they take the first steps into their future.

* * *

><p>¹<em>Glee, 3x14, On My Way<br>_²_credit to Jewish Interfaith Ceremony, Rabbi Devon Lerner  
><em>³_credit to Non-Denominational Ceremony, Reverend Joanna Scaparotti_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **And so ends this installment of the _Don't Blink_ series. I may revisit this 'verse in the future with some more one-shots, provided my muse cooperates. I hope you enjoyed the story.

Credit for the marriage ceremony goes to the above listed, real life officiants who posted samples of their ceremonies online for public consumption. I stumbled over them when researching, and thought some of their words were lovely and fit nicely with Quinn and Rachel, so I wrote them into the story even though neither of them are ordained in New York. Sincerest apologies to them if they ever happen to read this. Quinn's vows are entirely mine, however.

Thank you all for reading and taking the time to comment.


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